Brevity
by Menolly Mark
Summary: It is very strange that the years teach us patience, that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting. RemusxHermione. To be read as a fourth part to my RemusxHermione arc.
1. Fight or Flight

**Author's Note: **Thank you to **PinkTribeChick, Lala5, Nynaeve80, DementedLeaf, **and **armygundamgirl** for reading and reviewing the other three pieces in this series. You asked, you shall receive. :-) Thanks for being so encouraging.

The perspective in this story will alternate by chapter between Lupin and Hermione, so we'll get to see both points of view.

A third quick note: I am half-blind. There was an accident. Oops. Sometimes I make little typographical errors that I just can't catch. I do have someone read the stories over for me, but everyone misses the odd spelling mistake now and again, so they might be there. If you see one, please point it out tome so that I can correct it. I promise, I won't get upset, I'd really appreciate it. It's a terrible thing when you lose your credibility as a writer because you're physically incapable of properly catching your own "forms" and "froms." Thanks!

Enjoy!

Menolly

**Disclaimer: **Other than the obvious fact that I don't own Harry Potter, I also don't own the quote in the summary of this fic. I found that attributed to Elizabeth Taylor.

**Chapter One: Fight or Flight**

Hermione sipped absently at her butterbeer, while watching a very scrawny man trying to jostle people out of the way in order to get closer to Madam Rosmerta's counter. The sun had just begun to go down in the village of Hogsmeade, but activity in the Three Broomsticks didn't seem to fade with the light. At a nearby table, a collection of giggly witches were all looking at something in one of their shopping bags. Every time the witch with the bag opened it, all of them burst out into shrieks and gales of laughter that made Hermione wonder what exactly it was they had there. It was probably something from Zonko's, she decided, some one-use, instant love potion or something of that ilk.

Hermione, too, was laden with shopping bags, as she'd just left Honeydukes sweet shop, where she'd been shopping for her mother's birthday. No doubt, she thought with a grin, Mrs. Granger wouldn't ever have tasted any of the delectable sweet balls and concoctions that Honeydukes had to offer. She'd been careful to stay away from anything that was either shaped like, or acted like a mouse, toad, or cockroach, and had confined her attentions to the more innocent-looking sugar quills and chocolate balls. Mrs. Granger was very understanding of her daughter's totally unfathomable wizarding tastes, but Hermione had decided not to push her luck.

Another ear-splitting shriek erupted from the table next to hers, and Hermione shot an exasperated glance at the group of witches. They should, she thought, have just a little more decorum, as they looked no less than thirty years of age. They were acting like a group of schoolgirls.

A flash of light just outside the windows caught Hermione's attention, and she turned just in time to see a green jet explode, presumably, out of a wand, smacking a witch in the back of the head, and knocking her forward on to the ground, senseless. Hermione got to her feet, as did most of the other residents of the Three Broomsticks, all of whom were talking, yelling, pushing into one another to get either closer to the doors, or farther back into the depths of the inn. As the witches with the shopping bag pelted towards the door, Hermione realized that they hadn't been laughing. They'd been screaming in terror.

A wizard thudded hard on to the window, plastering himself up against it as he was hit from behind by a burst of magic. His frozen, terrified face slipped down the window pane, squished in a horrible mask of pain as he disappeared from sight. Hermione rushed towards the window, but couldn't see where he'd fallen. Was he dead? Stunned?

The doors to the Three Broomsticks burst open, and a man stumbled in, his wand thrust in front of him as if in challenge to all of the cowering people ranged along the back of Rosmerta's counter. Predictably, they all screamed. Hermione, however, did not scream, probably because she was too horrified to be capable of sound. She recognized the face under that hood all too well, from an all-too recent encounter.

She thought his name was Amycus. He was an older man, too old, one would have thought, to be useful as a death eater, and yet there was a hardness around his pudgy-eyed face that instilled very real terror in anyone who saw him. His grizzled hair and large, thick, disproportionate arms made him look more like a monster than a man, probably due to ill usage at the hands of the Dark Lord for any past slip-ups. Shining on his forearm was the unmistakable, leering skull of the Dark Mark, and he was pointing that branded wand-arm directly at Hermione.

For an aching moment, Hermione and Amycus stared at each other, motionless, uncertain. In the same instant, they both seemed to reach their decision. Amycus opened his mouth, and began to speak very quickly. "Avad-!" he began, but, before he had a chance to finish the incantation, Hermione had thrown a chair in between them, and fallen to her knees behind it, so that the spell bounced off of one of the chair's wooden legs, creating a searing black scar along it, but leaving Hermione unharmed.

She didn't have time to worry about the rest of the people in the inn, and she didn't have time to wonder about the presence of the Death Eaters in the middle of the crowded village. Hermione ran like she had never run before, out through the doors of the inn and aimlessly into the cobblestone streets, not paying any attention to where she was heading. She tried to force herself to think, to make sense of the situation, to make some sort of decision as to where she was going, but her mind was too paralyzed with the need to get away.

Vaguely, Hermione was aware as she ran of other people screaming, yelling, diving out of her way as she careened through them. She knew that Amycus must be at her heels, must be just behind her, his wand raised. She couldn't escape him, she realized with a jolt. There was nothing she could do. He would kill her, he would strike her down without so much as moving, the moment he managed to shoot off the Avada Kedavra curse . It was too late. She wasn't fast enough. She was going to die.

This realization stopped Hermione in her tracks, but, at the same time, it stopped her mind from spinning. So, she decided, this was it, then. She fumbled in her robes for her wand, but she knew that by the time she had it out and prepared to defend herself, he would already have had enough time to commit the murder. How long had she been running away from him, and why had she been so stupid? Shouldn't she have realized before she took off like a frightened squirrel, that the best defense was to face him, armed, and ready?

"Avada Ked-!" said Amycus, from behind her. Hermione held her breath.

"_Stupefy," _shouted a hoarse voice from somewhere to her left. Hermione spun around to see Amycus dropping his wand, stunned mid-sentence by the stupefication spell. She leveled her wand at him, a half expecting him to get up and charge at her a second time, but he didn't move.

"Expelliarmus," she said, and his wand flew out of his hand, hitting the ground with a crack. She bent down to pick up the wand.

"Leave it," insisted the voice that had come to her aid. "If we take his wand, he'll be able to track us as soon as he kills someone else and gets theirs. Come on."

Hermione turned, her heart flooding with hope as she recognized, for the second time that afternoon, a very familiar voice. Remus Lupin was standing over Amycus' fallen form, his robes just as beaten and patched as they'd always been, his hair streaked with the silver of aging, and of a worry that made him old before his time. Eyes flashing, he turned on her, reaching out to grab her painfully by the wrist. "Well, come on!" he insisted urgently.

Lupin's grip on Hermione's arm was painful as he hurried her forward through the streets of Hogsmeade. Once or twice she cried out as he twisted a bit too forcefully on her wrist, but he didn't relinquish his hold until they'd made their way around the back of the Hog's Head. Lying up against the side of the pub was a broom, just as tattered and ratty-looking as Lupin's robes. There was a brand name marked on one side of the broom, but it was so badly faded that Hermione couldn't for the life of her make out what it said.

Lupin swung one leg up over the broom, and settled himself on to it, sweeping his robes out from under him so that they didn't catch. Shooting Hermione a look, he waited, and she, realizing he expected her to join him, hastened over to him.

Hermione leapt astride the broom, bracing her knuckles against the hilt as she attempted to balance herself properly on to it. Lupin shook his head. "Put your arms around my waist," he instructed her, "or you'll fall right off." Hermione did so. As her fingers locked around the older man's slim waist, she was surprised to feel how slight his frame was, how disturbingly fragile he felt. Alarmed, she wondered what kind of work he'd been doing lately for the Order, and whether or not he'd even been eating properly, or sleeping sufficiently. She didn't want to see Lupin weakening. He'd always been a bit threadbare, but to imagine him as old, as frail…

Lupin kicked off from the ground, and the broom took off, soaring through the air over the mayhem in the streets, the roofs of the taverns and shops, and the houses that skirted the shopping portion of Hogsmeade village. Hermione stared down at the place where Amycus had lain, but she couldn't make out faces anymore, not at this height.

"We can't just leave," she started. "We can't just leave him there to wake up and start killing people. We're going back, aren't we?"

Lupin shook his head. "We're not going back," he told her. "That's not my job. Someone else will be here shortly to clean up the mess."

Even as he spoke, Hermione saw the crowd part around the place where she thought Amycus was. Groups of people were moving away from the spot, as if the spectacle was over. Someone, like Lupin had said, must have arrived to take care of him. Was it a member of the Order?

Taking her attention away from the scene of the crime, Hermione regarded Lupin again. She couldn't catch his eye, as he was looking fixedly ahead of him, focusing, apparently, on the trajectory of the broom. She had a thousand questions, and she spent a few minutes working out in her head which ones were the most important, and which she was most likely to get answered.

"How did you know?" she asked, after several moments of pensive silence between them. "How did you know that I was in trouble?"

Lupin shook his head. "I didn't," he said. "I got very lucky. We did worry that something like this might happen, that the Death Eaters might decide to come after you, Ron, and Ginny. Ron and Ginny are relatively safe at the Burrow, at the moment, however, and Harry can't be touched with the Dursleys. The first place I looked for you was at your mother's house, but she informed me that you'd gone to stay for the weekend at Hogsmeade, and that you wouldn't be home for a couple of days. I came to talk to you, thinking that you and I would work out some arrangement for your own protection. I did not think that I would find you at Amycus' mercy the moment I showed up. So, as I said, it really was luck."

"Well, luck or not," she murmured, "I think I owe you a lot of thanks, Professor. He almost had me. It was a very, very close thing." Hermione took a moment to reflect on exactly how close it had been, and her stomach dropped sickeningly as she remembered thinking that she was going to die, remembered deciding that it was all over. She'd been too cowardly even to turn and fight. Some DA witch she was. She felt stupid, childish.

"What I don't understand," she said, speaking around her thoughts to try and put her own self-disgust from her mind, "is why he was trying to kill me. Wouldn't I be a lot more use to…to Voldemort if I was alive, and able to give him information about Harry, and the Order?"

Lupin shrugged. "You're plenty of use to him dead, I'm sure. I can't imagine Harry standing by and taking our demise in good part. He'd go running off searching for Voldemort's lair without a moment's hesitation, hot for revenge, and that's all the Dark Lord requires."

"But," Hermione pressed him, "Ron is all right, and Ginny? Harry, too? No one's come after them, the way they came after me?"

Lupin chuckled darkly. "No," he replied, "no, for the moment, you're the lucky one who seems to have attracted Voldemort's attention, although I don't doubt that, now that he's failed with you, the rest of those of us who are close to Harry will be next. After all, that scheme worked once." Hermione heard the hardness in Lupin's voice, saw one of his hands clench down on the broom handle, as he thought about what had happened the last time Voldemort had decided to make Harry think that the people he loved were in danger. "We're doing the best we can to keep everyone safe from attacks," he added, after a pause. "The Order's somewhat dispersed at the moment, so that we're not all in the same place, making us more difficult to track down. Harry's staying with his aunt and uncle, and we tried to separate Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys, but of course Molly wouldn't have that. She'd rather have the whole family together, of course, in the event of an incident."

Hermione didn't want to think about any sort of 'incident' occurring at Molly Weasley's house, where so many good people were currently living. She couldn't imagine anything happening to Ron and Ginny, but she quickly reassured herself as she remembered that all of the Weasleys were wizards, and could therefore defend themselves much better in numbers than she could by herself.

"You're not worried that they'll just hunt us down one by one and…pick us off?" she asked, swallowing against the tide of horror that those words brought about.

"Of course we are," insisted Lupin. "But we think that it's safer for everyone if it's more difficult to track us down individually. That way, the Death Eaters have to spread out over a much wider space to find us, and less of them can attack at once. There are a lot of benefits that way of thinking, and it's the best solution that we have, for the moment."

That seemed reasonable to Hermione. She took a look around as she and Lupin glided through the sky, which was rapidly darkening as early evening took hold of the surrounding village. She had never particularly liked broomsticks, perhaps one reason why she'd never taken to quidditch like her friends. Glancing down, she remembered exactly how terrified she was of heights, and tightened her grip around Lupin's waist, reminding herself firmly that he was no doubt an expert flyer, and would not let her fall. What an awful fall that would be, too, with nothing but rooftops, pavement and stone beneath her to break both her fall and her.

Lupin reached back and placed a reassuring hand on her arm, before returning both hands to the broom. "Don't worry," he said, "we're almost there. I'll let you off soon enough."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione. "Grimmauld Place?" But no, she decided, even as she said it. If Lupin was trying to keep everyone apart, they wouldn't be going to the headquarters of the Order, where no doubt other members were currently staying.

"Actually," he murmured, "we're going to my home."

Hermione blinked at him. It hadn't occurred to her that he had one, and she felt silly about it. Of course he had a home. Where else could he have been living, all of those years before Dumbledore had called him to join the second Order? "It's been a couple of years since I've spent any time there," he continued, "so it wouldn't honestly be the first place that anyone would look for me. There's a good deal of spellwork on the place as well, since I've never been particularly keen on being easy to find. There are plenty of people, totally unrelated the cause of the Death Eaters, who'd like to torch the house of a known werewolf."

"Idiots," muttered Hermione, grimacing. "We need unity, and faith in times like these, not prejudices and ignorant hate crimes. Some people never will understand what's best for them, I suppose."

"No," said Lupin, "probably not." But Hermione thought she detected a slight change in his tone, and less of an edge to his voice as they soared on through the night sky.


	2. The Pleasure of Her Company

**Chapter Two: The Pleasure of Her Company**

Lupin drew his broom up to a gentle halt, on the outskirts of a giant forest clearing. A dull fog had descended around them with the coming of evening, and he was pleased to see that at least a few of his concealment charms had held through the years. He could feel Hermione's fingers tensing against the folds of his robes, and, as it had every time she clutched him more tightly in her fear of heights, a delighted shiver ran the length of his spine, having nothing to do with the temperature of the night air.

"Here we are," he said, waving a hand at the ring of trees below them. He couldn't see the look on Hermione's face, but her silence made it plain enough what she thought about his home. Chuckling, Lupin shook his head, and, lifting his wand out of his pocket, he murmured, "Ostendo!"

Immediately, the scene peeled itself away, as if a giant hand had reached down and lifted a cover sheet from on top of the forest clearing. What had been a row of trees rolled slowly backwards, so that, inch by inch, a small, bleak-looking two-story house revealed itself, sitting in the middle of a barren stretch of earth below them.

"Oh," said Hermione, still breathless from keeping her vertigo in check. Lupin grinned.

"Not much," he said, with a shrug, "but better than it looked at first, I think."

Hermione nodded, and he felt her hair brush against him as she inclined her head further forward to get a better look. Tightening his hold on the broom, he focused determinedly on the little house, and tilted his broom forward to begin their descent. He could hear Hermione's ragged breathing as they neared the ground, and although she was muttering repeatedly to herself, he couldn't make out quite what she was saying. It sounded a bit like, "It wouldn't hurt anyway, not this close."

They touched down a few feet away from the house, and Lupin dragged his feet in the dirt to stop them running right into the structure. Looking around with some distaste, he wondered why he hadn't at least made an effort to beautify the place a bit, planted a garden or done some small home repairs. In the little more than a year that he'd been away, the outskirts of his home had grown over with weeds, some of which seemed to be trying actively to eat each other, grappling with long, green, leafy arms. He looked over at Hermione, to see if she'd noticed, but she wasn't looking at the plants. Whether she hadn't noticed the disarray, or was choosing politely not to mention it, Lupin couldn't tell.

"Where exactly are we?" she asked instead, swinging herself off the broom so quickly that she almost fell on to her knees in the dirt. She steadied herself on her feet, closing her eyes, so ludicrously grateful to be on the ground that Lupin smiled. "I mean, we can't be that far from Hogsmeade, seeing as we weren't traveling that long."

"We're not," Lupin agreed, "not far at all, actually. Hiding in plain sight, if you will. No one's likely to suspect that I'd set up camp this close to the most packed wizarding settlement in London."

"I wouldn't call this plain sight," replied Hermione, with some respect in her voice.

Inordinately pleased with that, Lupin straightened his shoulders, and picked up the broom. He pointed his wand at it, and said, "Abscondo," watching it dissolve into the side of the house before striding forward towards the door. Hermione followed.

The inside of the house at least was considerably less of a mess than the outside. Lupin was a very clean person, and he was relieved to discover that nothing appeared to have moved in and disordered the place in his absence. The few pots and pans that he owned were perched on counters, or hidden inside cabinets, and his scratched wooden table and three plastic chairs, if not particularly ostentatious, were at least in good enough condition to be used. His and Hermione's footsteps echoed a bit too loudly against the floorboards, and he turned to see her peering around at the blank walls and counter spaces with a slightly anxious look on her face. He wondered suddenly if she was afraid to be alone with him.

"The guest room," he said quickly, "is downstairs in the basement. I mean, there is a basement, although you can't see the entrance from up here. It's hidden the same way I hid that broom. I can show you where you'll be staying right now, if you like."  
Staying?" Hermione looked blankly at him, as if digesting that word very slowly.

"Yes," he repeated, "where you'll be staying, until we're sure that it's safe for you to go back home again. You know that they'll probably go looking for you at your mother's house. I can't allow you to go back there for the moment."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it again soundlessly, her eyes widening as she finally began to understand the real reason that he'd brought all this way away from home. "But," she stammered, "I don't understand. What about Mum, and Dad? I can't just leave them there at the mercy of the Death Eaters…why, it's all my fault if something happens to them. Professor, I can't stay here, I have to go home. I have to!" Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, and his heart went out to her, even as he shook his head firmly.

"I can't allow that," he told her, as gently as he could. Her lip began to tremble, and he saw the calm that had come from being back on solid ground begin to evaporate from her eyes. Lupin sighed. "No," he insisted, "listen to me. Your parents are in just as much trouble whether or not you're with them. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. It's much better for them and for you if you stay out of the house. If you stay with me, The spies will tell whoever's hunting you that you haven't come home, and that you're clearly not at the Granger residence. Then they won't look for you there anymore."

"But what if they go after my Mum and Dad anyway?" cried Hermione. "What if they decide that they want to use my parents to lure me back there, just the way you think they might want to use me to lure Harry to them? It won't matter whether or not I'm actually there, as long as they can get my attention by…" she trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence, and wrung her hands helplessly, looking away from him, and letting out a deep, frustrated, desperate sigh.

"There is always," began Lupin, very carefully, "that possibility." Hermione glared at him. "However," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall her protests, "we'll be posting guards, subtle guards, mind you, around your house so that we can at least try to prevent the worst from happening. They have a lot more chance if you're not with them. They're les likely to be targets if you're not seen around the house."

Lupin knew that there were other, much more intensely personal reasons that he didn't want Hermione to be caught at the Granger residence. Surrounded by unsuspecting muggles, she'd stand much less of a chance there, even with members of the Order keeping watch when they could. She was much safer here, with him, where he could protect her personally from any Death Eater invasion, and he wanted her to be safe, more than he wanted anything else at this moment. He had to admit to himself that it mattered a good deal less to him what happened to Hermione's parents than it did what happened to Hermione, and selfishly disturbing as that thought was, he couldn't deny it. She had to stay here. She had to be safe.

"We can't let you fall into the hands of the Death Eaters," he told her, "because you know things about the Order, about Harry, about the plans that Dumbledore had, and the plans that we have that Voldemort would love to get his hands on. That can't be allowed to happen, Hermione."

Hermione fixed him with a stare of the deepest incredulity, tinged with a loathing that made something horrible and thick catch in his throat. Without speaking, she turned away from him, and strode a ways down the hall. He saw her point her wand at a wall near the stairs, and say "Ostendo." The wall peeled away, and there was the door to the basement level.

Clever girl, thought Lupin, as she opened the door and hurried downstairs towards the guest room. His limbs felt heavy, and he sank into a chair, the image of Hermione's disgusted look fixed in his mind's eye. Of course, he reasoned with himself, it was normal that she would hate him for something like this. He had essentially told her that he was willing to sacrifice her parents for the sake of the Order. How could she feel any other way? He'd have been alarmed if she hadn't reacted like that.

She's braver than me, he thought, because I'm afraid to lose her.

From the basement, Lupin heard Hermione shout. He started up, concerned, but just as quickly realized what she must have tried to do. Lupin had made very sure that no one could apparate in or out of this house, and no doubt Hermione had just discovered that piece of spellwork. He half expected her to come running upstairs in a rage, to demand that he release her, but she didn't. There was silence for several long moments, and then he heard her begin to move around in the basement, her footsteps tapping audibly from one side of the guest room to the other. Eventually, the steps ceased, and she went completely quiet. Maybe, he thought hopefully, she'd decided to go and lie down and get some sleep. Maybe she'd understand in the morning, would see the reasons why this was so very important.

A little voice in the back of Lupin's head told him that he didn't want her to understand all of the reasons why she had to stay here. If she knew everything about why he wanted her to be safe, she'd hate him even more, she'd even be afraid of him. He didn't know if he would be able to stand that. He didn't think so.

Dejectedly, Lupin ascended the stairs towards his own bedroom. He didn't feel much like sleeping, didn't feel much like doing anything, but that didn't matter. He was a working member of the Order, and he had important business that needed to be attended to.

Lupin had a small double bed, drably covered two uniform brown woolen blankets. Next to that was a beautiful full-length mirror, that looked so out of place compared with the rest of his furnishings, it gave the entire room a very odd air of contrast between affluence and deficiency. Coming up in front of the mirror, he tapped his wand against it, and, after several moments, the face of Mad Eye Moody swam into view, in all of it's distorted, deformed glory. Moody blinked at him out of his one real eye.  
"Well," he growled, "have you got her?"

"Yeah," said Lupin, in a hollow voice. "Yeah, I've got her. Safe and sound."

"Good." Moody nodded curtly at Lupin, his magical eye rolling around in his head to point at the floor. Lupin had the strange feeling that Moody was attempting to see through the mirror and down into the depths of Lupin's own house. Apparently unsuccessful, Moody grunted in some satisfaction. "Nice work you've done on the place, Remus. Very well guarded, as it should be. Not taking any chances, I see. I like that. You've changed a lot since the first time we formed the Order."

Yes, thought Lupin, I've changed a great deal. He said nothing, but nodded, and Moody turned away from the mirror. After a moment, the picture winked out, and the mirror reflected only Lupin's own dour face and weary eyes.

The next morning, Hermione did not emerge, as Lupin had half expected she would. He thought that she'd probably have gotten hungry, or at least come upstairs to plead with Lupin a second time to release her. He felt like a kidnapper, detaining her, as he was, against her will. He thought he might have been a little bit happier, at least a little more satisfied if she had berated him, screamed at him, threatened him, at least spoken to him.

But Hermione did not appear, and, as the hours rolled b, Lupin began to wonder if she was actually all right. Maybe that sound last night hadn't been her trying to apparate, but had actually been her hurting herself in some way. Maybe someone had gotten in downstairs, after all. With these thoughts in mind, Lupin pushed through the door to the basement, and ran down the two flights of stairs, cursing himself for having jumped to conclusions the night before.

"Hermione?" he called, peering around in the darkened room. Lifting his wand, he muttered, "Lumos," and filled the room with a flickering magical light that illuminated all of the corners and crannies. It was then that he saw her, folded quietly onto a dirty sofa near the back of the room. She was playing with her wand, and had apparently been at this for some hours, as signs of magical meddling were evident all over the guest room. Where there had once been a torn set of spare blankets, there was now a very comfortable looking knitted purple throw, and pair of needles hovering in midair were in the process of creating a second one. What had once been an empty wine-glass now contained a spray of flowers, of a similar color to the knitted blankets.

"I fixed your writing desk," she said to Lupin by way of introduction, gesturing with her wand at a black wooden desk next to the bed. "Some creeper vines had grown over it, and they'd pulled one of the legs right off. I'm not sure how they got there. You must have left a plant down here before you deserted it for Grimmauld place, and it started to take over."

"Thank you," said Lupin, unsure of what else to say. "Yes, I used to have a few potted plants. I'm not sure where they've gotten to."

"I got rid of them," replied Hermione, with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. They were absolutely rotten."

"Yes, they would be. That's quite all right." Lupin watched the needles moving back and forth with an odd fixedness. "I didn't know you liked to knit," he remarked.

"I do," said Hermione, unnecessarily. "I hope you like purple."

Lupin nodded. "Purple's fine,"

They sat there for a few minutes, both of them watching Hermione's needles finish off the ends of the blanket, before dropping it on top of the other one. Hermione waved her wand, and the needles vanished into thin air. Lupin realized that he was staring at nothing, and, starting, turned back to Hermione. "I wanted to tell you," he started, "how sorry I am, about this. I just wanted you to be safe. I wish I knew a better way to bring that about."

"It's okay," she told him. "I understand. Thank you."

Hermione smiled, and Lupin's heart, which had been nothing but a traitor to him lately, soared to new and unexpected heights of relief. Good, he thought, she did understand. "I'd love it," he added, "if you'd give me the pleasure of your company upstairs for a bit, although you've done wonders with the room down here already."

Together, they started back up the stairs, and Lupin wondered absently if Hermione would mind making him a couple of blankets to use in his own bedroom. They were certainly of a much higher quality than the brown ones that he'd been sleeping on for years, and they looked a good deal more comfortable, too.


	3. To Terms

**Chapter Three: To Terms**

Hermione was absolutely exhausted, and was having a very hard time not letting on. She'd been a very busy woman the night before, and had spent several hours attempting to figure out what the proper combination of charms and spells was to get free of Lupin's house. She'd learned that apparating wasn't a possibility, and when she'd tried using some leftover floo powder that she had in her pocket, the fireplace all but exploded, and she had to put out the flames hastily before any smoke drifted up and alerted Lupin to what she had tried to do.

Time and again Hermione had tried everything she could think of. She'd tried vanishing spells, and transparency charms, she'd tried bursting a hole through the wall itself. Nothing worked. It wasn't until three o'clock in the morning that she'd finally been forced to admit that no matter what she did, she was going to be staying here for as long as Lupin decided was best.

All that was left, then, was to decide what she was going to do about it. Hermione had toyed with the idea of being viciously angry, with the full-fledged power of a wrathful woman. She'd discovered very quickly that she wasn't able to do even that, as, to be completely honest, she couldn't fault Lupin for trying to prevent her from capture. He was, after all, doing his best for the Order, and she could very easily be the same kind of weapon that Sirius Black had been two years ago. It had occurred to Hermione as well that he could hardly be in love with the idea of locking himself away from humanity, from his friends, and from the war raging through their world. He was making a sacrifice for her, and she was behaving like a spoilt muggle brat.

Despite all of those rational, reasonable explanations, however, Hermione couldn't quite force herself to be pleased with the idea that her parents were fending for themselves against some of the darkest wizards ever born, because she, Hermione, was a witch. That was her fault, not Lupin's, and she was to blame for anything that might befall them. It was her responsibility to protect them, and she simply didn't know how to do it. Lupin kept insisting that she'd protect them much better by being far away from them, but she knew that it wasn't that simple.

Her mind roiling with all of this disturbed conflict, Hermione had not gotten a moment of sleep, and had spent the entire night either beating futilely against the walls of her magical prison, or knitting comforters, lost in unpleasant thought.

Lupin, she thought, didn't look much better off. The circles under his eyes were even more pronounced, if that was possible, and his fingers twitched nervously against the surface of the table as he laid out cracked plates and silverware for lunch. She realized he must have been worried about her, and she softened towards him, thinking of him sitting up, in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of her footsteps on the basement floor. Lupin was a very good man, and he'd come to her aid, to Harry's aid too, more times than she could possibly innumerate. She was wrong to fault him for this, and she had been wrong to be the cause of his losing sleep.

"Professor," she murmured, as Lupin waved his wand through the air, summoning a plate of bread from the other end of the kitchen. She wanted to tell him how badly she felt about all of it, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand, laying out some bread and cheese in front of her.

"I think," he said, looking dubiously down at the food, "that I'd better do some shopping one of these days. It's all right for me to eat like this, but I should be a little kinder to my guests."

"It's fine," insisted Hermione, reaching down to take a bite of the bread, to add conviction to her words. "Really, I'm not picky." She wasn't picky. She wasn't thinking of food at all, and was surprised to discover that she honestly wasn't hungry, even after a full night of angry pacing and stressful realizations.

"Be that as it may," Lupin replied, "you're not used to living quite as Spartan as I am, and you'll get hungry. We've got some work to do today, and I imagine that you'll work up an appetite."

"Work?" Hermione gave him a curious look. What could she possibly do for the order, locked away like this?

"Yes," Lupin repeated, "work. I've arranged for us to have a little conference with Kingsley, who is, at the moment, standing, disillusioned, in your backyard. Before we do that ,however, you've got to help me with a bit of magic, so that this place is more secure from eavesdroppers and prying eyes. We'll need to make every single window impervious to outside watchers, and disable the outgoing floo network in the upstairs fireplaces. Those still work, as I imagine you would have found out last night if you'd looked a little harder."

Hermione was too incredulous to be angry about that last comment. "You're…you're not serious," she said. "We can talk to my Mum and Dad? We can see them?"

Lupin shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid that no, we can't talk to them in person. But we can find out how they're doing from Kingsley, which I think should be sufficient to ease your mind a bit."

Hermione beamed at him. She could check up on her parents after all, and she wasn't abandoning them. Lupin smiled back at her, and patted her on the shoulder, before turning away to start in on his own meager lunch. "Why," she asked, "didn't you tell me about this last night, when I was…um…well, before I went downstairs?"

Lupin didn't respond, and Hermione had the distinct impression that it hadn't been a possibility last night. He must have arranged it this morning, she thought, so that she could relax a bit more about the situation. "Thanks," she said, very gently. "Thanks so much, Professor."

They ate in silence. The more Hermione ate, the hungrier she got, and before long she'd finished off most of the bread and cheese. Abashed at her greed, she glanced over at Lupin, but he didn't look too upset. A little smile was playing at the corners of his lips, and he cut some more for her, nodding at her to continue eating. He picked up his own plate, and carried it over to the sink, depositing it there to be dealt with later. He pointed his wand at one of the windows, and drew a large box around it in thin air, muttering, "Prohibitus" as he completed the square. Something flashed, and Hermione saw, for a fraction of a second, a glowing outline of magical sparks framing the window and windowpane. Almost immediately it was gone, but Lupin, looking satisfied, moved on to the next of the kitchen windows, performing the same charm.

Hermione got up, and started in on the window right next to her chair. "Prohibitus," she whispered, and was pleased when her attempt produced the same results. Lupin, looking over, nodded with approval.

"You were always a quick learner," he said.

Together they moved from window to window, with Hermione taking those near the table, and Lupin focusing on the ones across from the kitchen cabinets. Before very long, they'd sound and sight-proofed each and every one of the kitchen windows, and Lupin, straightening up in some satisfaction, gestured for Hermione to follow him upstairs.

She couldn't help being somewhat appalled by Lupin's bedroom. Much as she respected the man, the state in which he lived was absolutely pitiable. She'd been able to handle the kitchen all right, and the guest room, being so rarely used, could be excused. She could not, however, handle the sight of the room in which Lupin slept. It was absolutely barren of any wall hanging or decorative touch, and the paint was peeling off of some of the walls, where there should at least have been paper. The covers and pillows on the bed were falling apart before her very eyes. The only part of the room that was in any kind of repair was a curiously ornate mirror, that, in contrast to everything else, looked too gaudy to make sense.

"I was going to ask you," said Lupin, noticing the way her gaze swept over all of his possessions, "if I could have one of those blankets that you've knitted for the rooms downstairs. It would be…a nice touch."  
"Yes!" agreed Hermione, so emphatically that the color rose slightly in Lupin's cheeks, and he looked away from her, turning his attention to charming one of the windows. "Oh, no, I mean," she started, watching as the window glowed and then faded again, "I just…you've been so good to me, and everything, I'd be glad to do one for you if you want."

"I'd like that." Lupin finished a second window, and motioned towards the third, across from the bedroom door. "If you could just charm that one, we'll be done with the upstairs level."

Hermione blinked at him. "What about the bathroom windows?"

"There aren't any," he said, still not looking at her. "The bathroom was a bit of an experiment in architecture, on my part."

"Oh," said Hermione, wondering just how much her obvious incredulity had offended the man. "Did you build this house, then?"

Lupin shook his head quickly. "Not at all," he said, "I bought it from its previous owner. I just fixed it up a bit."

Hermione stepped over to the window, and pointed her wand at it. "Prohibitus," she said, and the window shimmered obligingly. "Well, that's easier for us, then," she added, resolutely. "I'll just go downstairs and do the basement windows, and then you can let me know what else needs to be done."

As soon as Hermione was in the guest room again, she set her knitting needles to making a third blanket. Artistically, she decided to weave in some gold thread along with the purple, giving the blanket a thoroughly royal, much more decorative feel. It would help the bedroom, she thought, if the mirror matched some of the rest of the furnishings at least a little bit.

After finishing all of the windows, she returned to the bedroom, to find Lupin sitting on the edge of he bed, fingering the blankets thoughtfully. He looked up when he saw her, and, getting to his feet, gestured at the nearby fireplace. "We need to disable this," he said, "so that no one can monitor us through the floo network while we're speaking to Kingsley. It doesn't take incoming wizards or calls, but it does send them out, so all we have to do is prevent it from doing that."

This time, Hermione didn't need to be instructed. She flicked her wand at the fireplace, saying, "Atrumpo fireplace!" The fireplace emitted a half-hearted puff of dusty pink smoke, which dissolved into the air. To test the results of the spell, she took another pinch of floo powder out of her pocket, and tossed it into the grate. As the basement fireplace had the night before, it immediately caught fire, and Hermione put it out with a squirt of water from her wand.

"Excellent," said Lupin, looking impressed. "Where did you learn that from?"

"I just read about it," she said, blushing unaccountably under his eyes. "I saw it in Stealth and Secrecy – A Basic Household Guide."

"Very wise," nodded Lupin, "for someone in your position to know basic security spells like that. Actually, I'm surprised that no one taught them to you at school. It should be part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum."

"I hardly think," muttered Hermione, "that we've received anything close to a good education on that score."

Lupin snorted. "It doesn't seem to matter in you case," he said. "You seem to be able to pick things up without even practicing them, the way the rest of us mere mortal wizards have to. A formidable witch like you doesn't even need to take school courses."

Hermione stared at him, somewhat scandalized, and Lupin, seeing the expression on her face, burst into a bout of silent laughter. He leaned up against the wall for support, shaking with mirth, his eyes shut as Hermione regarded him, confused. What was so funny? She hadn't even said anything. Maybe Professor Lupin had been under too much stress for a little bit too long…

"You're a treasure, Hermione," he said, unexpectedly, and Hermione went bright red. Seemingly aware that he'd said something to make her uncomfortable, Lupin sobered up almost immediately, and, coughing, pointed with his wand at the doorway into the hall. "There's a fireplace just around the corner of the stairwell too," he told her, all business now. "Why don't you go and close that one up, and then we'll be ready to check in on Kingsley."


	4. Checkmate

**Author's Note: **Thank you to **Gueneviere** for reading and reviewing!

Sorry about the delay on this chapter; something came up. You know how it is.

I'd like to mention that this set of stories now has its own webpage, **Defense Against the Heart's Arts, **at the following link. **NOTE: WHEN TYPING THIS LINK INTO YOUR BROWSER, DO NOT PUT ANY SPACES IN. **

http:// menolly . mark . googlepages . com / home

Enjoy!

Menolly

**Chapter Four: Checkmate**

Lupin stepped up to the mirror again, and tapped it with his wand, whispering, "Kingsley Shacklebolt," as he did so. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him. She was hovering just behind him, peering over his shoulder, and making him exceedingly uncomfortable. He turned around, raised an eyebrow at her, and noticed that she had to stand on her tiptoes to get a glimpse of the mirror over him.

"Sorry," she murmured, biting her lip. Lupin shrugged.

"It's an ordinary two-way communication mirror," he informed her, moving aside slightly to let her get closer. "The only difference with this one is that only a member of the Order can use it. It won't respond to promptings from anyone else." He indicated a large, ornate seal in the far corner of the mirror; the mark of the Order. "Dumbledore's work."

"But suppose someone used a polyjuice potion, and pretended to be one of the members of the Order?" insisted Hermione. "Would it work for them?"

Lupin sighed. "You sound like Moody," he muttered, "always assuming that the world is out to get us."

Hermione widened her eyes at him. "Well," she began, reasonably, "it _is._"

Lupin had to agree that she had a point, there. "Yes, well," he replied, "no, actually, it couldn't be used by anyone outside of the Order. It uses a magical signature recognition system, and doesn't depend on faces or tones of voice. Every wand has an individual, invisible signature, and each of our wands has one that this mirror recognizes. Therefore, it will only react to one of our wands. The catch is, obviously, if one of us is apprehended by the Death Eaters. It's safer than most methods, though."

"Excuse me, Remus." A deep, pleasant voice broke into Hermione and Lupin's conversation. "But I am on duty, so I'll have to interrupt you. Gotta make it quick." Kingsley Shacklebolt's face had appeared in the mirror, glancing occasionally back over his shoulder as if checking to see who was listening. "I'm not supposed to spend long periods of time away from the house."

"Of course." Lupin nodded towards Hermione. "Miss Granger just wanted to make sure that everything was all right at home."

"Right as rain," said Kingsley, too quickly. Hermione frowned.

Seeing the wary look in Kingsley's smiling face, Lupin decided not to comment, and pretended not to notice the uneasiness. "Marvelous," he said, "very good. We'll check in with you in a couple of days, then. Just contact me if you need anything."

Kingsley nodded. "Yeah," he said, in a way that implied very clearly that he wouldn't be contacting him for any reason. "You two take care."

"Wait, Mr-!" Hermione stammered, but Kingsley's face flicked out of existence even as she spoke, and the mirror's surface reflected only Lupin's calm expression, and Hermione's agitated one. Hermione turned on Lupin, biting her lip and crossing her arms over her chest in concern. "You don't suppose he would hide anything from us, would he? I mean, in the interests of the Order. Can we…can we really trust his assessment?"

Lupin waved an impatient hand at her. "Of course we can," he insisted, wishing that for once, Hermione hadn't been astute enough to pick up Kingsley's distressed nuances. He had absolutely no idea what the trouble was, but he knew that if Hermione convinced herself that everything wasn't okay at home, he would be back at square one with her, and it would be another long night of guarding the exits for him.

This time, however, Hermione seemed willing to accept his promise that Kingsley was telling the truth. She shook her head, as if trying to compose herself, and then nodded resolutely. "Okay," she said. "So…what now?"

Lupin stared at her, uncomprehending. "I beg your pardon?"

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked a second time, with a little shrug. "Anymore windows to fix or fireplaces to charm? What can I do to help?"

In some confusion, Lupin watched her, realizing that she was expecting him to find something for her to do with herself. To be completely honest, he realized, he wasn't used to having guests, or at least, to entertaining anyone other than members of the Order, who were almost always on some sort of business, with the intention of completing a certain task. It had never occurred to him that he would have to find some way for Hermione to occupy herself. Why should he? She was essentially a grown woman, after all. Surely she could occupy herself somewhere quietly, couldn't she?

"Ah, no," he said, "no, there aren't any more windows, we've gotten them all. Actually, I think security's quite sufficient for the moment. I can't think of anything we haven't done."

"Oh," said Hermione, looking a bit disappointed. "Well, all right, then. I'll just…go downstairs, shall I? I think I'll come and make dinner later, too." She gave an empty dish on the floor by the bed a cursory, uncertain look, then smiled at Lupin, and headed out of the bedroom, and down the stairs again.

Lupin rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. He was all too aware that he'd been alone for too long, and yet that realization kept hitting him anew at odd and inopportune moments. It made him feel very silly, very old, and very uncomfortable, none o f which were feelings that he thought he should have to experience in his own home, on his own ground. That girl did things to his head that a man his age…

Abruptly discontinuing that line of thought, Lupin strode from the room, determined to focus his energies and disconcerting thoughts on something more worthwhile.

* * *

Several hours later, Lupin found himself buried waist deep in a pile of Daily Prophets. He was skimming article after article, attempting pick out suspicious statements by Prophet reporters. Tonks had informed Mad Eye Moody weeks ago that she thought there may have been a spy amongst the wizarding journalists, who periodically announced the capture of a Death Eater who was still very much at large, for the sake of throwing the Order, and the wizarding community off of the scent. Moody had, as he very often did, passed the task of ferreting out the spy on to Lupin, as it didn't require any confrontational activity, and Moody seemed to fancy himself the Order's new leader, by way of his being the oldest and most apparently experienced with abuse of the Dark Arts.

Lupin didn't honestly mind. Sirius may have objected to being out of the line of fire, but Lupin liked the idea of keeping himself in one piece, and still being useful to the Order.

And while you're here, said an annoyingly persistent voice in the back of his mind, you're useful to her, too.

Thoughts of Hermione drew Lupin's attention away from the papers, which weren't particularly illuminating. He wasn't helpful to her, he told himself with a grimace. He couldn't even seem to find something about which to have a conversation with her. She was probably bored to tears, and he hadn't bothered to do a thing about it, other than to make her do a bit of work on his windows. For that matter, what had she been doing all this time?

Glad of the distraction, Lupin rose, and made his way to the hidden basement entrance. He could hear the clicking of Hermione's knitting needles as he descended the stairs, and, as he came around the corner towards the guest room, he saw them hanging in mid-air, holding up half of an unfinished, scarlet-red…something. It would probably be easier to determine what it was supposed to be when it was finished.

For a moment, he didn't' see Hermione at all. She wasn't next to her needles, and she wasn't sitting on the couch where he'd seen her previously. It was only when he went right up the couch and glanced behind it that he found her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her chin in her hands, looking extremely focused. In front of her was a very old-fashioned wizard chess board,

Hermione looked up, and went slightly pink. "Sorry, Professor," she said, pushing the chess board away from her. "I just found it, and I hadn't played in so long that I thought I just might try to play against the board for a little bit."  
Lupin snorted. "Be my guest," he said. "If it's been sitting down here all of these years, it's nothing that I'd miss." Walking around the back of the couch, he sat down on the other side of the board, and looked it over. Hermione seemed to be winning, but not by a more than a margin. All of her pieces, which, rather than black,were a very half-hearted shade of dull gray, were still on the board, but she had only managed to capture two of the dusty, blue/white pawns that were apparently being controlled by her magical opponent. Lupin blew on one of them, and it became a little more clearly white, as a puff of strangely-scented dust erupted off of it in a tiny cloud. "It's been years since I've played, myself."

"Ron's excellent at it," said Hermione, shaking her head and smiling reminiscently. "Harry can't ever beat him. They play all the time, but they get so involved that they never seem to let me have a turn."

"I imagine Ron enjoys that. There isn't much that Harry gets bested at." Lupin pushed at one of the bishops absently, and the board gave off a second, indignant puff of smoky dust. The piece didn't budge.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hermione retorted, snorting, but not maliciously. "Harry's an excellent wizard, but he's lacking in a lot of departments. Chess is only one of them, and not the greatest, might I add."

Startled, Lupin looked up, and gave her a very searching look. "What departments might those be?" he asked sharply.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open, and Lupin realized all too late that the tone he'd let creep into what he'd meant to be an innocent question was entirely too revealing. And yet, Hermione must have known that he would take her comment that way. After all, what could she possibly have meant, other than to insinuate that she knew things about Harry's…performance that in departments other than those of magical defense? Was she teasing him?

"I…that's not…gracious, Professor." Hermione was turning multiple colors, going from white, to red, to vaguely purple, as if her face couldn't figure out which emotion it wanted to display. Then, almost bizarrely, she laughed. "It's not very nice to joke with me like that. I thought you were serious for a moment."

Lupin blinked. He'd thought she was serious for a moment, too. What exactly were they talking about? He forced himself to laugh, too, and although it sounded a bit hollow to him, she seemed mollified by his apparent humor. "Sorry," he said. "Hard to resist."

Hermione pointed at a space on the board, and one of her pawns swaggered confidently forward. The board seemed to think for a moment, and then sent out one of it's rooks, which charged the pawn with an echoing roar, and flung it off of the board on to the floor beside Hermione. Lupin saw Hermione wince. "I'll never get used to the way they do that," she muttered. "Mum's an avid chess player, but obviously the pieces we have back home don't go after each other's blood quite like that."

Lupin grinned. "When I was at school, we used to gang up all together, the four of us against the board, and just watch our pieces pick the other ones off one by one. A bit bloodthirsty perhaps," he added, as Hermione wrinkled her nose with distaste, "but boys, I suppose, will be boys."

"I wouldn't' know anything about that," she replied sarcastically. Lupin laughed.

"I don't suppose I could play?" he asked, gesturing at the white pieces. "You could probably beat me a lot more easily than you could beat the board, and the game might not last very long, but I've always found it to be more fun to play against a living opponent."

Hermione nodded. "Sure," she said. "That is, if you're not busy."

When Lupin attempted, for the second time, to take control of the white pieces, the board reluctantly relinquished them to his command, and he began to move them a bit closer to Hermione's side, taking a more offensive line than the board had been. Hermione, in turn, moved most of hers around the king a nd queen, and refused to remove any of the pieces that stood right in front of them, as if expecting that if she didn't make any aggressive maneuvers, Lupin wouldn't be able to make any himself.

"Didn't Ron ever teach you that you can't play a defensive game of chess?" asked Lupin, as his pawn took her bishop with a hollow wooden thunk. "You have to attack, be forceful, or else you'll get cornered."

"Oh," said Hermione sweetly, pointing at a space across from Lupin's bishop. One of her rooks rushed forward and tackled the bishop. "Sorry, Professor. Is that better"

"Yes," said Lupin, frowning as he noticed that she had lined herself up directly with his queen, although they were many, many spaces across the board from each other. "That's…much better."

They played on like that for several minutes, until Lupin was forced to admit that Hermione's apparently defensive tactics were giving him a very hard time. Just as he was wondering whether or not he should call it off and admit defeat gracefully, rather than lose to a former student, Hermione spoke up.

"You know," she said, looking him directly in the eye, and only coloring slightly this time. "I really wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't know what?" asked Lupin, although he thought he already knew.  
"Wouldn't know about Harry's performance in other departments," she said, quite bluntly. Lupin hoped desperately that his face wasn't displaying the warmth of relief that statement brought to his heart.


	5. Vulnerability

**Author's Note: **Thank you to **Nynaeve, **to **Gueneviere** and to **PinkTribeChick** for reviewing again. :) Also, to **DeltaGammaLiv, poor clare, hey-meredith, Purgurl, **and **eleganteros. **Patience, guys! If I came to the romance too fast, you'd get bored with it, and then where would I be? We're getting there, I promise…

Sorry about the double perspective in this chapter, let's see if it works.

I also have a challenge for you all:

**Menolly Mark's RemusxHermione Fanfiction Challenge:**

Write a Remus/Hermione one-shot from someone else's point of view; Ron's, perhaps, or Harry's, maybe Tonks, or Mad Eye Moody. Whomever you like. Make sure to explain how they feel about it, how they came to understand that something was going on between them, and where they think that it is going to go.

Then, go to http:// Menolly.mark . googlepages .com / home

Scroll to the bottom of the page, and you will find my email. Submit the fic to me, and I will link it on my webpage, and reference it in this fic.

Just something to do if you're bored. : - )

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five: Vulnerability**

Hermione waited until Lupin had gone up to bed, before dropping her façade of complacency. Inwardly she was seething with worry, with determination, and with resentment for being kept here like a child, while others stood around her parents' house and just watched. As if, she thought bitterly, that was really going to do any good. They needed guards, not spectators, and the Order of the Phoenix was too strained, too stretched out over multiple tasks to give enough of their genuine attention to the Grangers' concerns. She had recognized the signs in Kingsley' manner, and understood better than they seemed to want her to that nothing was quite right at home.

She was done with being obedient and grateful, she decided. She had tried that. It was now time to take some definite action, whether or not anyone else seemed to think that she had the right to or not. She didn't yet know how she was going to get out of the house, as she wasn't familiar with the charm to open up the fireplace upstairs again. Instead, she would start by figuring out exactly what the extent was of the trouble with her family. When she knew how bad it was, then she'd know how much time she had to figure out what to do next.

With that purpose firmly in mind, Hermione climbed the stairs towards Lupin's bedroom. Not unexpectedly, they creaked as she ascended, and she pointed her wand at them, hissing, "Silencio," and hoping Lupin hadn't heard them. She couldn't' be sure that he was actually asleep, although she knew he'd gone up to bed several hours earlier.

He was asleep, she discovered upon entering the room. His long legs folded up beneath the brand new set of bedclothes Hermione had made for him, Lupin slept like a man dead, not snoring, not moving, his bare chest rising and falling ever so gently with his breath. She stood for several minutes just watching him, frowning as she remarked for the second time just how thin and battle-weary he looked, even in these moments of peace. He had a very gentle face, but it was so drawn, and so pale, like it never got a chance to see any sun.

Before she realized what she was doing, Hermione had stepped up to the edge of his bed, and was reaching down to tuck a corner of the coverlet back around his spare frame. He still didn't move, and she remembered the very first day she'd seen him, when she, Ron, and Harry had traveled in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express. They'd wondered briefly if he was dead, then, and she now could see why. The man was out like a light.

All the better, thought Hermione, moving away from the bed and over towards the mirror. Hopefully, he wouldn't wake up during her conversation with Kingsley.

As she passed by the bed, Hermione's eyes searched through the darkness of the room for the one thing that she'd need to make the mirror work for her. Lupin had told her that the mirror would only respond to the signature of an Order member's wand. Lupin's wand would be around here somewhere, as he'd no doubt want to have it near him in case of an emergency. She just had to find it.

Fortunately for Hermione, Lupin didn't own a lot of furniture, and there were only so many places that the wand could be. She looked underneath the bed, and in the drawers of the makeshift bureau that he kept at the other end of the room. Finally, she found the wand sitting right next to Lupin's hand, on the table between his bed and mirror. She picked it up, and almost immediately felt dirty. She was taking another man's wand, a man who'd been kind to her, and who'd pulled her out of harm's way at risk to his own life. It was wrong to take another wizard's wand, it was a personal violation.

Stifling those thoughts, Hermione took a deep breath, and closed the distance between herself and the mirror. Raising the wand, she tapped the surface of the mirror, just as Lupin had the day before, and murmured, very softly, "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Lupin awoke with a start in the middle of the night. He was positive that he could hear voices in his room. Before his eyes had adjusted sufficiently to the darkness, he was reaching instinctively towards the bedside table for his wand, groping around on top of it, his fingers searching, when he realized, with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, that his wand wasn't there anymore.

"But I don't understand," came a very loud whisper from somewhere in front of him. Lupin squinted into the space before him, trying to see clearly. "How can you be sure that they're not inside the house right now? Isn't there anything someone can do about it? Shouldn't we be-!"

"Hermione," murmured Lupin, as realization dawned. "What are you doing?"

Hermione spun around, alarmed, her face white. She was clutching the side of Lupin's two-way mirror with one hand, while in the other, she held his wand. It was all too obvious what had happened, and Hermione seemed to realize it. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, and she dropped the wand involuntarily, letting it lie where it fell on the floor.

Lupin got slowly to his feet, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and crossed to the mirror. "Some things," he said, very quietly, forcing himself to keep his voice casual, "it is all right to borrow. Chess boards are one thing, Hermione. A wizard's wand is something entirely different."

"I needed to know," she whispered fiercely. "I needed to know the truth. No one was going to tell me the truth if I didn't do something!" Her lip was trembling, but she met Lupin's gaze with a resolution that impressed him, even in his anger.

Lupin shook his head, looked away from her, and turned his attention to the face in the mirror. "Kingsley?"

"Ah," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking somewhat abashed. "Good morning, Remus."

For several moments, the three of them stood there, Lupin trying to control his anger, Hermione looking terrified, and Kingsley making extremely uncomfortable coughing noises every few seconds. Finally, letting out a long, steadying breath, Lupin nodded curtly at Kingsley. "Well, go on," he said. "What's happening?"

"Well," said Kingsley, "ah, I was just telling Miss Granger here that we've…we've sighted someone, lurking around the Granger residence."

"Someone?" Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

Kingsley shook his head. "Hell if I know," he muttered. "But who would be lurking around here, if they weren't looking for us, or for Hermione? Can't imagine that it's a friendly neighbor, as they haven't made any attempt to approach the door, or pay a call."

"And where is that person now?" Lupin pressed him.

"We don't know that eeither." Kingsley made an apologetic gesture. "That's why we're tightening security. Tonks and Marville will be here this afternoon; I think three heads and three wands are probably better than one. Don't worry about it," he added, trying to sound confidant, and looking at Hermione. "We'll track him down. Probably just a scout of some sort. I'm sure it's nothing to, uh…lose sleep over."

With a polite inclination of his head, Kingsley smiled first at Lupin, then at Hermione, before his picture winked out of the mirror face, leaving Hermione staring bleakly at it, as if expecting him to return and say something else. Lupin put a firm hand on her shoulder, but she didn't move, or look at him. "It's going to be perfectly all right," he began. "Everything is under control. They know that there's someone there, and they're going to make sure that nothing goes wrong."

Hermione said nothing. She held out Lupin's wand in front of her, stiff-fingered, not looking at him, and Lupin, reaching out to accept the wand, closed his hand around hers. "Don't worry," he repeated, squeezing her hand. After a second, he realized that he was still squeezing it, and was surprised to discover that she hadn't pulled it away. Instead, she had turned her face up to his, and was gazing at him with a world of turmoil behind her brown eyes. Lupin put one arm around her shoulders, in an awkwardly paternal way.

Hermione, quite unexpectedly, threw both of her arms around his neck, and dropped her face against his bare chest. Every muscle in Lupin's body tensed, and that all too familiar shiver ran down his spine, across his shoulders, through his entire body.

"Do you mean that?" she asked, her voice still steady, but soft with worry. "Do you really think that it's nothing to worry about?"

Lupin wondered which response would make her stay pressed against him like that, and then cursed himself inwardly for having that kind of selfish thought. His instinct was to reassure her, to placate her, to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear, and yet he knew that Hermione was quite right to be alarmed.

"I think," he said gently, "that there's no good in your worrying about it. We're at war. We're in danger. You've already accepted that. The best we can do for the moment is wait, hope, and trust in our friends to take of each other, and of your family."

"Trust," muttered Hermione. "Not a lot of room for trust these days, is there?"

Lupin smiled sadly. "I remember when you used to be the one who was all in favor of inter-house communication at school, the one who used to promise Harry and Ron that we could get through things because we were all together."

"The world got uglier," replied Hermione, simply. "And I got older."

We all got older, Lupin thought.

"Now I know all about the Imperius curse, and battle hexes, Confundus spells, magical deception, all the ways that one wizard can force another person to do his bidding. I don't see any reason to trust anyone, Professor Lupin. And you don't, either."

She gave him a long, searching look. Lupin shook his head.

"You're wrong, Hermione," he said gently. "I still believe in trust. Things can go wrong, people can fall under curses like that, but we're nowhere if we can't hold out some hope in the people we love and respect."

"Then we're nowhere," whispered Hermione.

"The Imperius curse is the exception, not the rule, Hermione," Lupin insisted doggedly. "It doesn't change the fact that the people we trust-!"

"Nothing changes anything," said Hermione, much more loudly this time. "We can't trust anyone, we can't rely on anyone. No one is themselves, no one is safe, everyone's at risk." Lupin bit his lip. He could see the hysteria in her eyes, knew that she understood that she wasn't making sense, and that she didn't' care. "None of it matters," she persisted, "because nothing makes any difference anymore. We're at war, you said it yourself. All of these friendships and human bonds, they're all lies, because here, in the magical world," and there was a derisive, mocking note in the way she said that, "we have the ability to change each other's minds from the outside. There's no human integrity!"

"Hermione," started Lupin, still holding her firmly by the shoulders.

He didn't get very far. "You should know better than anyone," she hissed at him, her eyes flashing agitatedly. "Your best friends killed each other. Peter Pettigrew murdered the Potters. Then Lord Voldemort used Harry to kill Sirius Black, by getting into his mind and changing it around for his own purposes. You should know, you should understand exactly what I'm talking about, because you have-!"

"_Enough." _Lupin's voice was still quiet, but there was a harsh intensity in it that made Hermione stop mid-speech, her mouth open in surprise. His brain seethed with the anguish that Hermione's words had brought on him, with memories of things that he'd long ago forced himself to admit that he couldn't change. She was right, he knew, she was right about all of it, and he hated the thought, didn't want to think about how frail, how fragile and easily broken the human mind was.

"You're right," he said, just as coldly. "And I know it a lot better than you."

Hermione said nothing. Lupin dropped his hands away from her shoulders, suddenly loathe to touch her, feeling stung and vulnerable. "I'll go tomorrow to visit Kingsley and Tonks," he said. "I'll make sure that we track down the person who is lurking around your parents' house."

"Professor," murmured Hermione, reaching out towards him again. Lupin turned away from her, and strode from the bedroom, leaving her standing next to the mirror, her eyes wide, her mouth still working soundlessly at his back.


	6. Like Mother, Like Daughter

**Author's Note: **There will be no update tomorrow, as I am entertaining real life, for a change.

Chapter seven on Saturday, then.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I hope you know how much I really do appreciate it. I think you all are excellent writers, by the way, have I mentioned that? I've been reading your fics. One of these days I'll have enough time to properly review them. I really will.

Enjoy!

Menolly

**Chapter Six: Like Mother, Like Daughter**

Lupin didn't wait until the next day to leave for the Granger residence. Hermione heard him rustling around in the kitchen, as she lay awake on the basement couch. She'd suspected he'd probably try something like that; leaving earlier than expected so that Hermione wouldn't have a chance to follow him. She rolled her eyes. His admirable nobility, she thought, was a waste of time.

Hermione drew on her black cloak, and buried her wand deep in one of the front pockets. Lupin's footsteps tapped across the floor just above her head, and she hastened up the stairs, determined to catch him before he disappeared.

She found him outside, drawing the broom out of the side of the house where he'd hidden it. Bracing herself, she cleared her throat, murmuring, "Professor?" Lupin turned on her, surprised, and opened his mouth to speak. Before he had a chance, Hermione held up one finger, shaking her head. "Please, don't," she insisted. "I'm coming with you. You already know that. Save yourself the trouble and don't argue about it, all right?"

Lupin blinked at her, a blank, bemused expression on his face. For a moment, Hermione was sure that he was going to get angry again, and she wished uselessly that the two of them hadn't fallen out the night before. She couldn't have picked a worse time to find herself out of his better graces, and she needed him to be willing to work with her, or the whole trip to her parents' place might be completely useless. She watched him, hopeful, beseeching, intent. He needed to understand. He just had to.

Lupin laughed, somewhat hoarsely. "Fine," he said. "I should have expected as much." He threw one leg over the broom, and perched himself on the front, waiting for Hermione to join him. Hermione didn't move, taken aback by the ease with which he accepted her coming along. "Well?" Lupin raised an eyebrow at her. "Either you're coming, or you're not. Shall we?"

Once Hermione had climbed on to the back of the broom, Lupin kicked off from the ground, one hand clutching the front of his broomstick, the other holding his wand over his head. "Abdos," he muttered, and the deceptive image of a forest clearing stretched itself over the house again, like a sheet unfolding itself. After a moment, Lupin's home was entirely hidden, and he stuck back beneath his robes. Then, straightening the broom so that it faced the direction from which they'd first arrived, he set them to soaring over the house, and past it, into the distance.

Hermione had never been particularly good with directions. She could follow them easily enough, and she caught on quickly, but she could never find a location by herself, the first time around. Had she had any idea where she and Lupin wee, she might have been able to work out how to get home, but as she didn't, she was completely at a loss. They rocketed over row upon row of houses, and many streets, some of which were filled with cars, but many of which were devoid of any Muggle vehicles.

Lupin reached back and grabbed Hermione's wrist with the hand he'd used to hold his wand. "Hold tight to me," he instructed her. "We're going to apparate in two jumps. First, to Diagon Alley, then, into your living room."

Hermione frowned. "That's not going to make my parents very happy," she said.

Lupin smiled thinly. "They'll live," he said, and Hermione chuckled under her breath.

She tightened her hold around Lupin's waist, and felt him shudder as she did so. He should have brought a warmer cloak, she decided. It was pretty frigid, this high up in the air. Hoping to provide him just a bit more warmth, she threw the edges of her own cloak over his arms, and moved closer to him on the broom. His back was rigid against her, remarkably tense for a man well used to flying like this.

Lupin didn't speak for a moment, and then, with a pop, Hermione found herself being drawn, with him, to a space just above the Hog's Head. A few people glanced up curiously as they erupted into existence, but lost interest quickly enough, and moved on.

"Why," asked Hermione, "are we doing this in segments? Do you think someone might be following us?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, I don't," he assured her, "but it never hurts to be careful, just in case. Ready for the next jump?"

Mrs. Granger screamed. Hermione, having just appeared in the Granger kitchen, leapt off the broom, and rushed towards her mother, her arms stretched out in front of her. "Mom, no! Shh, please! It's all right, it's me, Hermione!"

Mrs. Granger stopped screaming, but clapped one hand over her mouth, the other over her heart as she stared at her daughter, and at Lupin, who was looking a bit awkward hovering on a broomstick next to the stove.

"Hermione," she breathed, laughing, "you scared me half to death…I've asked you not to…not to _appear_ like that when you're in the house. Your father and I simply can't get used to it, and it isn't fair to ask us to."  
"Sorry, mum," said Hermione. "But it's really important, I had to-!"

Mrs. Granger shook her head firmly. "It's just as easy to do that outside the house, and walk in the front door. I bet your friends don't appear in their mothers' kitchens like that, even if their parents are more accustomed to it than we are. And who's this?" She turned her attention to Lupin. "I don't believe we've met."

"This is Professor Lupin," sighed Hermione, stalking impatiently towards the door that led to the dining room. "You remember, I've mentioned him before. Where's dad?"

"Oh, of course I remember." Mrs. Granger smiled. "You taught Hermione in her third year at Hogwarts, didn't you? She speaks more highly of you than of any other Professor she's ever had, I can't imagine why you left. Hermione says it was a terrible loss to the school when you did, but I won't presume…well." She gave the broomstick a dubious look. "Would you like to, um, get down from there and come in? Hermione can make some tea; I didn't know I should be expecting visitors."

"Thank you," murmured Lupin, slipping off the broom and laying it against one of the walls. "You're very kind."

Hermione let out an exasperated breath. Had he forgotten that they were on an urgent mission, here? "Mom," she started again, so quickly that her mother didn't' have a chance to interrupt, "this is really, really crucial, okay? I need to know if anyone's been in to see you or dad in the last couple of days. Anyone at all."

"Been in to see us?" echoed Mrs. Granger, in some perplexity. "Well, yes. We aren't recluses, you know. Mrs. Perry came by a few days ago, and Mr. Carruthers. Ms. Claire and her baby son, too. You would have loved to see them, and they would have loved to see you…I talk about you all the time, but you're so often away that it's almost as if you've dropped off the face of the-!"

"Anybody you don't know?" pressed Hermione, doggedly. "Anyone unusual? Did anyone deliver a pizza, or drop off the mail? Any unexpected door-to-door salesmen?"

"No, Hermione, honestly.:" Mrs. Granger shook her head. "We haven't seen anyone but our friends and neighbors in at least a week. Why? What on earth is going on?"

Hermione wasn't sure whether or not to be relived, or suspicious that no one had come to call on her family, not even, apparently any of the members of the Order. She opened her mouth to answer her mother's question, but Lupin got there long before she did.  
"There's nothing wrong," he insisted. "We just wanted to check up on you and make sure that everything was all right. Hermione was getting worried, she's an excitable person."

I am not, thought Hermione in some irritation, an excitable person. She couldn't understand why Lupin was acting as if there wasn't anything to be worried about. He knew as well as she did that there were people lurking around the house, so why wasn't he going to tell her mother about it? Did he really think that it was better, safer for her not to know? That made absolutely no sense. The best defense, Hermione knew, was preparation.

Mrs. Granger was laughing. "I know she is," she began, beaming at Lupin, "and caring, too, desperately kind. Why, she worries about everyone, doesn't she. Takes care of them, too. I daresay she got that from her father, he's the most gentle man I've ever known, simply the most thoughtful person. But," and she turned to Hermione, still smiling, "you don't have to worry about us, love, there's really nothing at all to be afraid of."

Hermione met her mother's eyes, and held them for a long moment. Mrs. Granger's smile wilted slightly, and she looked quickly from Hermione to Lupin, biting her lip in the same way that Hermione did when she was confused about something. "There is something," she said, nodding slowly. "Well, I can see that in your eyes." Abruptly, the garrulous, beaming Mrs. Granger's face set into a mask of concentrated understanding. "Well then," she said, "best have the worst of it right out. Go on, let's hear it. I won't be left standing here in the dark."

Lupin looked a bit put-off, but Hermione felt proud of her mother for seeing through the empty reassurances. "Look, mum," she started, "it's kind of a very long story."

It really was a long story. Hermione started by explaining to her mother all about the Death Eaters, and her deep friendship with Harry Potter, the boy who lived. She spoke about the Order of the Phoenix, the second wizarding war, and Lupin's place in relation to all of it. She almost mentioned the attack that she'd undergone in Diagon Alley, but decided to leave that part out, since she was sure that her mother would be more rational if she didn't have to deal with the knowledge that someone had tried to murder her only daughter.

Mrs. Granger listened very patiently to all of it, nodding encouragingly whenever Hermione broke off to catch her breath. When Hermione had finished, Mrs. Granger looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "So," she said, finally, "you're telling me that there's someone out there, trying to get at you by attacking us?"

"There might be," murmured Lupin, who had not spoken throughout all of Hermione's explanation. He sounded like he was providing the information somewhat reluctantly. "We're not entirely sure, but we have reason to believe that there might be someone trying to get in to this house."

"That's why," continued Hermione, "we've set members of the Order to watch over you, so that you don't come to any harm. Still, that's not going to be sufficient, I don't think. You and dad have to come with Professor Lupin and I, somewhere that the Death Eaters won't know how to find you. It's the only thing that I can think of at the moment."

Lupin made a noise of surprised protest, but it was Mrs. Granger who spoke. "Absolutely not, Hermione," she said, planting one hand on her hip. "We will do nothing of the sort. Having more people in your hiding place will no doubt put those…those Death Eaters on the trail of the Order much faster than they would without your father and my help. That doesn't' sound like a very good idea, s they're the only ones who seem capable of fighting this monster you've told me about. I wont' have the people protecting you in danger, Hermione, and you knew that before you even came here to tell me all of this."

"But mum-!" Hermione started towards her mother, her hands outstretched in a useless, beseeching gesture. Mrs. Granger shook her head.  
"Would you make the Professor and I some tea, Hermione? There's a good girl."


	7. The Worst

**Chapter Seven: The Worst**

The air in the Granger kitchen was very tense, as Hermione reluctantly began to make a pot of raspberry tea for her mother and Lupin. Lupin stood uncomfortably in the corner, watching the frustrated twitching of Hermione's fingers, and the stoic, unconcerned expression on Mrs. Granger's face. Every time a leaf rustled outside the open window, or someone passed by on the pavement, Hermione's head shot up, and she gazed for a long time at the window as if expecting all hell to break loose upon her any moment. When nothing happened, she looked like she couldn't decide whether to be relieved or annoyed.

"I see you didn't bring back any of the things you went out for in the first place," Mrs. Granger was saying conversationally, crossing to the window, and shutting it pointedly. "I suppose that means that you'll have to go back again before school starts in the fall. I won't remember, so don't forget to take care of it yourself."

"Yeah," murmured Hermione, "actually, mum, I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

"Oh?" Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter. "Sounds like you've been meaning to talk to me about a lot of things."

Hermione frowned balefully down at the teapot. Lupin cleared his throat. "Where is your husband, Mrs. Granger, if you don't mind my asking?"

"He's at the office," Mrs. Granger told him. "Life's been going on here, even if everything's going up in smoke amongst the wizards. My husband's a very busy man, these days. He's thinking of selling his practice one of these days, so that we can retire together, but you know how it is. Children aren't cheap." She smiled to take the sting out of her words, but Hermione still looked unhappy. "I understand," said Lupin quietly, "but I think it would be advisable for Mr. Granger to take a couple of sick days, and stay at home with you for a bit. We can protect you when you're in the house, but we can't follow you to work and back every day. There just aren't enough hands."

"I wouldn't expect you to," insisted Mrs. Granger. "I told you, life goes on."

"Mum-!" started Hermione, putting the teapot down on the table with an exasperated thud. Mrs. Granger put up a hand to forestall any protests. Still smiling, she walked over and took the teapot from Hermione, and carefully poured a cup of tea for each of them, while Hermione shot Lupin a helpless, exasperated look from over her mother's shoulder. She moved her lips soundlessly, mouthing "do something, won't you," and widening her eyes expressively at him. Lupin shook his head. He had no more power to make Mrs. Granger do anything than Hermione did, and Hermione knew it.

"You'll stay the night with us, I daresay," Mrs. Granger was saying, as she laid one cup out on the kitchen table each for herself, Lupin, and Hermione. "I feel like we never even get to see Hermione lately, and it's always nice when she comes home, even if just for a little while."

"Thank you," began Lupin, "but we really shouldn't-!"

"Thanks," interrupted Hermione, "that sounds wonderful."

Mrs. Granger beamed at them. "I hoped you'd say that," she said. "Do me a favor, Hermione, and go and check if there are fresh sheets in the second bedroom. We can put Professor Lupin there for the night, assuming it's clean enough to be used."

Hermione nodded obligingly, and left the room. Mrs. Granger watched her go, and waited until the two of them heard Hermione's footsteps on the stairs before she turned to Lupin. She was no longer smiling, and there was a deeper sort of dark emotion in her eyes that Lupin hadn't seen there during all of her conversation with Hermione.

"Professor," she asked, very calmly, "is it really that bad?"

Lupin took a moment trying to decide how to answer that question. He couldn't help having a deal of respect for Mrs. Granger, as he'd just seen her accept that she, her husband, and her only daughter were in grave danger of being murdered, and had taken it with marvelous poise. The woman gave off the impression of being a bit of a scatterbrain when one first met her, he thought, but he could now see where Hermione got some of those qualities that made her unmistakably a proper Gryffindor. Mrs. Granger would be an ally in his desire to protect Hermione, and he could tell her the truth.

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid so."

Mrs. Granger sighed. "Yes," she echoed, nodding. "I guess I didn't really doubt that."

"We're going to look after her," Lupin told her, wishing that he was as sure about Hermione's safety was he was trying to sound. "We're not going to let anything happen to her."

"You're not going to let anything happen to her," murmured Mrs. Granger, giving Lupin the same keen, piercing look that Hermione often did when s he thought he was being deceptive. There was a light emphasis on the word "you" that alarmed Lupin, and he glanced up at Mrs. Granger's thoughtful face, but her expression didn't seem to have changed. "And what about her friends? Ron, and that Harry Potter? Are all of you going to protect them, too?"

There was definitely a difference between the way she said "you," and the way she said "all of you," Lupin decided. "We're doing the best we can to make sure that they're all safe," he assured her, around his thoughts.

"I bet you are." Mrs. Granger took one of the cups of tea, and sipped at it, letting a significant silence fill the kitchen. Lupin couldn't help feeling strangely comfortable with this woman, who seemed to understand so much without having to be told. He found himself wanting very much to tell her that she didn't have to worry, because he, Remus Lupin, would rather die than let anything or anyone lay a hand on her daughter, and that he intended to do just that if the need arose. That thought alone was staggering, and he had to spend a few moments wrapping his mind around the idea before he was able to voice it. He really was willing to die for the girl, he realized, and the realization didn't scare him as much as he knew it probably should have.

Before he had a chance to put any of these revelations into words, however, there was a pounding at the door, and Mrs. Granger looked up from her tea. She started towards the door, but Lupin rushed forward and intercepted her, shaking his head. "Let me get it," he said. "You go back into the kitchen and stay out of sight."

The woman didn't put up a fight, but gave him a long look, and said, "Don't you dare get yourself hurt, Professor," before retreating around the corner. When she was gone, Lupin turned a wary eye on the door, from which furious knocking was still coming. He craned his neck, trying to see underneath the shade of the nearby window without actually lifting it and letting anyone know that he was there. A shout from outside stopped him dead.

"Mrs. Granger," a familiar voice was yelling, still hammering at the door. "Mrs. Granger, open the door, this is an emergency."

Lupin threw the door open, to reveal a breathless, sweating Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley briefly registered some surprise at seeing Lupin, but apparently didn't have time to berate the older man.

"Remus," he said, "look, you have to get the Grangers somewhere out of the way. There's someone out her shooting off Confundus charms, ad we think they're trying to create a distraction so that we get out of the way of the door."

Lupin didn't stay to chat. He rushed back into the kitchen, and grabbed Mrs. Granger forcibly by the arm. "We've got to go," he said. "Get upstairs to the bedroom. I'm going to lock you in."

"What?" Mrs. Granger stammered, looking past him to the open door. "What's going on? What do you mean, lock me in? Where's Hermione?"

Lupin pulled the still protesting woman up the stairs, and pushed her into the bedroom that Hermione was just coming out of. Alarmed, Hermione shot a look at his face, and then at her mother's. "What's happening?" she asked. Lupin shook his head, and, not allowing himself a moment to consider the consequences to Hermione's opinion of him, threw her backwards into the room, and closed the door.

He could hear Hermione's shout of protest, even as he raised his wand, and muttered, "Claudo." He heard the lock on the door click, and then a thud, as if a person had thrown their full weight against it. Wincing, he continued. "Abeus," he said, and the lock on the door vanished, so that it was now impossible to unlock it. Finally, he added "Abdos," and the door disappeared under a sheet of illusion, so that it looked like a seamless part of the wall.

"Remus," shouted Kingsley, sticking his head back into the doorway. Lupin rushed down the stairs again, and out into the yard, slamming the door behind him as he went.

The sight that met his eyes on the Grangers' lawn was a really alarming one. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, Mad Eye Moody, and Charlie Weasley were all ranged around the well-pruned bushes and flowering plants of Mrs. Granger's garden, ducking and weaving around spurts of green magical fire that seemed to be coming from nowhere at all. Lupin rushed into the fray, his wand raised, trying to see where the spells were shooting off from.

"Remus!" Tonks breathed a sign of relief as he approached. "Just in the nick of time, too. Where've you been the past week or so? We've all been taking turns outside the Grangers, but everyone says that you were too busy."

Lupin blinked at her. Had no one told her that he'd been at home with Hermione? No, he decided, no one had, because if she'd known, she'd hardly be smiling at him in that same welcoming, hopeful way that she usually did.

"I'll explain later," he told her, pointing towards the direction from which the hexes were coming. "Now isn't a good time."

"Yeah," chuckled Tonks, dropping to her knees on the grass as a spell whizzed over her head. "That's for sure. Stupefy!" She fired off a spell in the direction of the attack, squinting in her attempt to see clearly through the magical haze. "Oh!" Her hand shot out and she pointed furiously into the distance.

Lupin followed her gaze, and saw a form coming through the cross-cross of spells and hexes. After a moment, another person appeared, and then a third. He shot a glance at Tonks, who was looking very apprehensive.

"Death Eaters?" she asked Lupin, tensely.

Lupin shrugged. "Who else?"

The figures were coming clearer now, and Lupin could see that they were swathed completely in black cloaks, their faces only partially hidden by the hoods. He didn't recognize the first man, but the second was very clearly Walden McNair, and the third-!

"Get down, you idiots," bellowed Mad Eye Moody, dashing past them and firing off a series of rapid jinxes at the oncoming Death Eaters. "Or are you just going to stand there and let them pick you off one by one while you gawp at them, eh?" Lupin and Tonks dropped on to their stomachs, lowering their faces to the ground. Lupin could hear the sounds of spells being shot from behind them, over his and Tonks' heads. Charlie Weasley roared as he charged the cloaked figures, closely followed by a stony-faced Kingsley.

As Lupin struggled to his feet, he saw the first Death Eater make a slashing motion in the air with his wand. Moody went crashing to the ground a few feet away from Lupin, and Lupin rushed over, lending the man an arm to get him to his feet. "Expelliarmus!" shouted Lupin, pointing his wand at the man who had attacked Moody. "Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!"

The Death Eater dropped, although Lupin couldn't be sure if he'd hit him, or if one of the others had. "Aim," muttered Moody darkly, scrambling to his feet again, and cursing colorfully under his breath. "And what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the Granger girl?"

"Remus!" screamed Tonks. Lupin spun around to see that a fourth Death Eater was pointing his wand directly at Lupin's head. Lupin ducked, but not quite fast enough. A bolt of yellow fire came hurtling towards him from the Death Eater's wand, and Moody fell over again in the grass, trying to avoid it.

Then, suddenly, Lupin found himself being thrown bodily to the ground, so that the spell careened over his head and scoured a nearby rosebush. He looked up to see Hermione, her wand raised, sprawled next to him on the ground.

"What," stammered Lupin, staring at her, "are you doing here? You should be inside wit your mother. How did you get out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Professor," Hermione hissed. "Stupefy!" she dropped the fourth Death Eater with an expertly aimed stupefication charm. "I thought you of all people would have had enough sense not to lock away an able-bodied wizard at a time like this!"

"She's right, Remus," muttered Moody, getting up for the second time. "Now shut up and do something useful, would you?"

Lupin looked around. Charlie was in the process of exchanging hexes with McNair, only a few feet away from them. Another Death Eater was closing in behind him, preparing to strike. Struggling to his feet again, Lupin rushed at Charlie and his attackers, roaring, "Petrificus totalus!" as he went. The Death Eater behind Charlie went rigid, and hit the ground like a man-shaped stone. Charlie must have finished off McNair, Lupin thought, as McNair, too, was lying winded on the grass.

"Stupefy," shouted Hermione, as one of the vanquished Death Eaters attempted to get to his feet. He dropped again, and Hermione picked his wand out of his limp hand, pocketing it.

"That's all of them," muttered Moody, who had somehow come to stand unnoticed at Lupin's shoulder. "We're going to have to clean this place up, quick…and work on them." Moody pointed, and Lupin became aware for the first time that a throng of frightened neighbors was standing, gaping and muttering, clustered together on the edge of the pavement in front of the Granger residence.

Kingsley joined them, panting slightly. "Obliviate," he said, waving his wand in an exhausted arc over the heads of the staring Muggles. Some of them opened their mouths to shriek in protest, but the sounds were cut off as they all blinked, and stared at each other, apparently very confused as to what they were all doing there.

"It's all right," Tonks was saying, "it's okay. There was a bit of an accident, car overturned, but nobody's mortally injured. We'll get everybody inside and they'll be okay. Move along now, go on. Doesn't help to stand and gape at people. Shoo!"

Absently, Lupin wondered how the muggles were going to rationalize or explain away the fact that most of the victims of the "car accident" were holding wands and sporting odd-looking magical burn marks. He briefly considered removing all of the offending wands from the ground, and then re-doing the Obliviation spell so that no trace of magical doings remained.

That thought went completely out of his mind when he heard, from a few feet behind him, a low, snarling voice say, "Crucio." He spun around, and saw that McNair seemed to have recovered from Charlie's hex, and was advancing on the place where Hermione was sitting, balled up and panting on the grass.

Everything felt like it was going in twisted slow motion. Lupin started to run, but his legs weren't carrying him fast enough. He felt as though he was crawling along as he tried to reach Hermione before the jet of fire from McNair's wand did. She looked up, and Lupin had one glimpse of the horrified look on her face before the Cruciatus curse hit her full on the chest, and she let out a blood-curdling scream that sounded as though it had been ripped from her lungs by force. She writhed on the ground, clutching at her head, at her arms, at her chest, and tearing at her hair as she tried to ease the searing, blinding pain.

"_No!_" Lupin wasn't aware of what he was doing, couldn't think properly, could barely see McNair standing in front of him. He threw himself on McNair, forcing him to the ground, his hands grasping at McNair's wand as he fought to wrench it out of the larger man's hands. McNair was stronger, more hardened, but Lupin had the force of desperation behind him, and he slammed McNair's head into the ground, stunning the man with the force of the blow. Hurling McNair's wand from him, Lupin raised his own, and said, "Petrificus Totalus." McNair didn't move.

Hermione's limbs stopped twisting, and her face relaxed as she struggled to pull breath into her lungs. Lupin reached out and put his arms around her, drawing her to him, desperately relieved that she was managing to breathe. Hermione dropped her head against his chest, and went limp and silent.

"Hermione," whispered Lupin, shaking her in his urgency. "Hermione. Listen to me. It's all right, it's over. Hermione, it's going to be all right. We finished them. It's done."

She didn't open her eyes, or give any sign that she had heard him. Lupin's heart went icy cold, and he stared numbly down at her pale, expressionless face. It was over, he kept telling himself. She was going to be all right.


	8. Breathless

**Author's Note: **What better to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon than update twice?

And thanks for continuing to read and review to everyone. Special thanks to **Cadence Black** for her recent review. It made my entire week.

**FIC REC** – Everyone should read **Gueneviere's** "Coward." You will love it. Really. And maybe if you all go read it and review she'll update. (Please?)

That will be all for the moment!

Menolly

**Chapter Eight: Breathless**

When Hermione awoke, everything was dark. She tried to open her eyes, but found that she couldn't, as when she did so, something wet and cold trickled down into the corner of her eye, making her wince. She reached up and snatched at whatever it was that was obscuring her vision, pulling away a cold, wet compress. Droplets of water sprinkled all over her face as she held the compress above her, confused. She couldn't understand what she was doing with this thing on her face. Had she fainted? That was certainly unusual. Hermione wasn't prone to fainting.

Blinking the water out of her eyes, Hermione took a look around at the walls of the room she was lying in.

Pictures she'd done as a little girl, full of smiling stick-figures that vaguely resembled herself and her parents hung on each of the four walls, and she immediately recognized her bedroom. She cast her mind back and tried to remember how she'd gotten here. She'd been in Diagon Alley…no, she'd been at Remus Lupin's house, locked up in his basement guest room. Then they'd left to see her parents…because her parents were in danger. Danger…like Death Eaters. Death Eaters were dangerous. That's how she'd gotten here, she realized. They'd been attacked by Death Eaters. Where was her mother? Where was Lupin?

Hermione rolled over on one side, attempted to sit up, and immediately sank back down on to the bed. Every bone and every muscle in her body ached and throbbed with a vengeance, as if she'd been thrown hard against a wall and broken each of her limbs. Unable to move, she cast around for some way to make herself heard, or to get someone's attention. Only then did she notice the man kneeling at the edge of her bed.

Remus Lupin was crouched, crumpled-looking at her bedside, his head buried in his hands, his elbows resting on the bed's frame. She couldn't see his face, but his very posture and attitude made her terrified that something horrible had happened. She tried to speak, but found that no sound would come out of her mouth. Frustrated, she cleared her throat forcefully, and Lupin's head snapped up.

He gazed at her for several moments, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow. Hermione reached out a hand to him, and he took it in both of his, pressing her palms with his, as if that contact was the most reassuring, precious thing to him in the entire world. "You're awake," he said, very hoarsely. Hermione realized that his hands were shaking against hers.

"Yes," said Hermione, unsure of what else there was to say. He looked so tired, so desperate.

Lupin nodded wordlessly, and then, quite suddenly let out a groan of relief, and drew himself up on to his knees, wrapping both of his arms around Hermione's shoulders and burying his face in her hair. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his lips brushed accidentally against the nape of her neck. Forgetting for a moment how frantic she'd been the minute before, she attempted to deal with the totally unexpected onslaught of pleasure that his closeness brought about in her. This didn't make sense, she told herself. She was still asleep, knocked out from the fall, or the blow, or whatever it was that had happened to her in the battle against the Death Eaters. She didn't want to wake up, she wanted to stay like this, in this rapturous state forever, and that was wrong…wasn't it?

Then Lupin's lips had found hers, or maybe hers had found his, she wasn't sure which. The drawn skin of his cheek pressed against hers as she kissed him, and he drew her even closer o him, so that she was almost sitting on the edge of the bed, her limbs screaming with pain that she couldn't' bring herself to pay any real attention to. He buried his lips in her throat, against her collarbone, his head resting on her chest, and she tried hard to breathe evenly, and failed.

Then, finally, the searing pains in her body overcame her, and she felt herself sinking back into sleep, irritated even as she did so that she had to pass out at a moment like this.

* * *

"Hermione? Professor Lupin told me that you were awake earlier. Can you hear me?" A voice intruded on Hermione's unconscious state, and she opened her eyes a second time to peer up at her mother's worried face.

"Mum," she whispered, and was pleased that she seemed to have mastered the ability to speak once more. "You're okay….I'm really glad. Where's…what happened to the Death Eaters? Where's dad?"

"The…Death Eaters are gone," Mrs. Granger informed her, lingering on the words "Death Eaters," as if she didn't like the taste of them in her mouth. "Your friends drove them all off, or got rid of them in one way or another. Your father's here and he'll come up and see you if you like. We weren't sure if too many people should come in at once, but I daresay he's hovering outside the room on tenterhooks to find out how you're doing."

"Okay," murmured Hermione, nodding. "Then…where's Professor Lupin?"

"Hah." Mrs. Granger let out a little chuckle, and shook her head, speaking airily, although not unkindly. "I put him in the study to rest. He needed it. That man was sitting on the floor next to your bed for das. He didn't even look up when I came in to ask him if he wanted anything to eat; he acted like he was in some sort of a trance. I thought that the…the Death Eaters had done something to him at first, but I don't quite think that they're the trouble with him." She gave Hermione a searching look, and Hermione felt her heart doing an odd cart wheeling dance in her chest as she thought back to what she thought had happened earlier the last time she'd woken up. What a shame, she thought, sighing inwardly. It was such a wonderful dream…

"He told me that you'd managed to speak and sit up a bit this morning," Mrs. Granger continued, "but that I should probably let you sleep and not try to wake you again for a while. He'd know best about magical injuries, I suppose, so I took him at his word…and you do look a lot better."

Hermione turned those words over in her mind. Professor Lupin had seen her this morning; he'd been at her bedside for days. He'd spoken to her. Did that mean that what she thought had happened had been real, and not a dream at all?

"I'll get your father," Mrs. Granger was saying, turning away from Hermione towards the door. "When you're feeling better, you can come downstairs and have something to eat."

"Mum," whispered Hermione, holding out a hand to her mother. Mrs. Granger bit her lip, and tears sprang into the corners of her eyes. She reached down and very gently hugged her daughter close, whispering as she did so, "Never, ever scare me like that again, Hermione, do you understand? I don't care what we have to do to keep you out of harm's way; I don't ever want you hurt like that again."

When Mrs. Granger looked into Hermione's face again, her eyes were dry, and her mouth set in a forcedly pleasant expression. Hermione watched her leave the room, feeling suddenly guilty for having caused all of this apparent worry. Of course she'd scared her mother half to death, especially if she'd been out cold for days, as Mrs. Granger had implied. She'd scared Lupin, too. Again, Hermione's mind wandered to what she now couldn't be sure was a dream. Lupin had looked so pleased, so relieved to see her. And he'd kissed her, not like a paternal figure, but like a man discovering that the woman he loved was alive after a horrible ordeal. The woman he loved?

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Mr. Granger, who swept over to her bedside and kissed her on the forehead and cheeks in an exuberant excess of emotion. "My little girl," he said, "my little clever girl, you gave us the most horrible fright we've ever had. How are you feeling? The Professor told us that you were going to be in a lot of pain. Does it still hurt?"

Hermione thought about that. She did feel a bit achy, but not nearly as badly as she'd felt before. "Not really," she told her father, smiling. "I'm mostly better now. I think I can even get up." To tests this statement, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and struggled awkwardly to her feet, relieved that she didn't feel those same twinges of startling pain.

Mr. Granger reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't push it, Hermione," he told her, "there's no rush. Your mother and I can bring anything you need up to you, don't strain yourself."

"I'm fine, daddy," Hermione insisted, wobbling slightly as she spoke. "And I have to talk to you…I have to tell you about-!"

Mr. Granger shook his head, "there's no need," he promised her. "Your friends have explained everything, and your mother helped. I understand what's going on."

Hermione thought that her father didn't look nearly scared or concerned enough to really understand what was going on. "Well," she said, hesitantly, "then…you and mum aren't going to stay here, are you? I mean, now that you've seen what Voldemort's followers are capable of, you're not going to wait around for hem to come back. You're going to leave with us, aren't you?"

Mr. Granger shook his head. "Your mother and I have discussed it," he told her bracingly, "and you know how she feels about the whole thing. I agree. I don't' think we should put you in any more danger, and seeing as we're not familiar with any of the…magical incantations or…or…whatever it is that you do, we wouldn't be a great deal of help to you or your friends. I don't want to put you in any more danger."

Frustrated, Hermione said some things that she regretted even as she spoke them. "Think for yourself, dad," she said, heatedly. "I thought you at least would see reason, even if mum can't."

Mr. Granger just smiled. "When you're in love with someone like your mother and I are," he said simply, "you learn that you don't always have to think for yourself."

Leaning down, he gave her another kiss on the forehead, and then strode from the room, leaving the door open in his wake. Hermione watched him disappear down the stairs, trying not to seethe with renewed irritation that her parents didn't seem to understand that she wasn't going to leave them alone to be torn apart by the Death Eaters. Surely Lupin would understand, after everything that had happened with the Order and the Death Eaters on her very doorstep, that the situation had changed. She would ask him to talk to her parents about it. He could make them understand, even where she couldn't.

Yet again, she found herself drifting off, imagining the moment when Lupin had taken her into his arms. She realized that the was blushing, even in the solitude of her bedroom, and swallowed hard, feeling more and more certain that their moment had been very real, and not at all a figment of her imagination. If that was so, where was her? Her mother had said that he was sleeping, but she was impatient to see him, to speak to him. The more she thought about seeing him again, the more excited she grew, so that it wasn't long before Hermione was padding towards the bedroom door, careful to be quiet so that her parents wouldn't come running to see why she was up and about so soon.

On careful tiptoe, Hermione minced her way into her parents' bedroom. On second thought, she decided unhappily, she was still in some considerable pain, if not nearly as much as she had been. She still couldn't remember what exactly had happened to her, but she was starting to think that it must be spell-damage. She felt all tingly in a weak sort of way, the way one did after they were attacked by a particularly powerful hex. She'd have to ask Lupin what exactly she'd managed to do to get herself knocked out for so long.

Lupin wasn't asleep. He was kneeling next to the fireplace, speaking in undertones to Nymphadora Tonks' head. Tonks' head didn't look too pleased, either. Her eyes were red and swollen, and one shaking finger kept emerging from the fireplace to point accusatorily at Lupin. When Hermione entered the room, Tonks gazed at her for a moment, then took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and disappeared from the grate. Hermione felt herself beginning to color, but with pique this time, rather than embarrassment. So, he was sitting in here talking to Tonks, was he? What was that supposed to mean? Well, Hermione reasoned with herself, it probably didn't mean anything. After all, Tonks had just helped Lupin and the others defend Hermione's house from attack. She should be grateful to the woman, not annoyed.

With those thoughts firmly in mind, Hermione turned her attention to Lupin, who hadn't spoken, though he was watching her from the floor. She wasn't sure what to say, or how to address the matter of what had happened that morning, but she was determined to speak to the man. She saw his fingers clutching somewhat nervously at the edges of his robes, and wondered what Tonks had been saying to him to make him so jittery. Or maybe it wasn't Tonks at all. Maybe it was Hermione's presence that confused him so.

"Professor," she started, stretching out a hand instinctively towards him.

To her surprise, he recoiled from her, wincing away from her touch. She saw alarm and revulsion in his eyes, and felt as though her feet were about to give out beneath her. He was disgusted by her. It was plain on his face.

She didn't know what to think. Just that morning he'd embraced her as if he'd never let her go again in a million lifetimes, and now it disturbed him even to look at her, or to feel her fingers on his shoulder. She stepped back, dropped her hand to her side, and shook her head at him, disbelieving. Lupin made as if to rise, but she backed away from her, turned from the room, and retreated back towards her own bedroom.

None of it made any sense, Hermione thought, her brain reeling. Only yesterday it would never have occurred to her kind, staunch, protective Professor Lupin could have felt anything more towards her than a paternal affection, and then she'd found herself in his arms, kissing him, being clutched against him in desperation and what she had genuinely thought was a real passion. Now, he couldn't look at her. None of it seemed to fit together in any way. Was she imagining things? If so, which part of the puzzle was imaginary, and which were real?

"Hermione," called Lupin from behind her, but Hermione couldn't' bring herself to speak to him. She didn't want to see that look on his face in reference to her ever again. Stumbling in her haste and pain, she hurried back into her own bedroom, flung the door closed, and lay down again on the bed, spent from exhaustion and too many unsettling thoughts.


	9. Beast

**Author's Note: **Dear readers, I badly need corrective eye surgery which I will hopefully be receiving later this summer. My eyes no longer focus properly, and I am having serious trouble catching my typos. Please forgive them if you find them; I am doing my absolute best under the circumstances. I shall overcome.

Special thanks to **Gueniviere **for updating, and of course for featuring **Brevity** in her latest update. Special thanks also to **tutucute4u,** and to **brokenblackangel** for first-time reviewing!

And of course thanks to **Lala5, Purgurl, DeltaGammaLiv, PinkTribeChick, Nynaeve80, **and **hey-meredith **for reading reviewing, and generally being excellent.

Honestly.

Finally, this chapter references the first part of this story arc, my one-shot called **Fearless.** It's a quick read, but it'll help the last bit make a little more sense.

Enjoy!

!Menolly

**Chapter Nine: Beast**

Lupin stood, stricken, watching as Hermione slammed her bedroom door in his face. His ears were still ringing from Tonks' tearful jibes, and he wasn't feeling very well to boot. He stood outside of the door for several minutes, running one nervous hand through his silvering hair. "Hermione? I want to talk to you. Will you come out, please? Please. Let's handle this like adults."

Nothing happened. He almost wished she'd throw something at the door, or come out and rage at him, just so he'd know she was listening. That wasn't like Hermione, though, he thought. She wasn't prone to temper tantrums.

And if she did come out, what would he say? She'd taken him completely unawares when she'd come upon him talking to talks in his room, and he'd been too startled by her sudden arrival to school his expression or mask his thoughts the way a mature, experienced wizard like himself should have.

The moment he'd left her bedroom that morning, still tingling from the kiss they'd shared, he'd begun to feel the beginnings of the inevitable shame and consternation. Hermione had never been supposed to know the inexplicable way that he felt about her, or how her desperately he'd been battling with himself not to give in to those unacceptable emotions. When he'd thought he was going to lose her, he'd let his guard drift, so overcome by emotion that he hadn't been paying enough attention to how dangerous his relief for her was. Now it was all over. She knew the truth, she knew what his concern for her safety, and his shudders at her touch all meant.

"When I ask you, you tell me that you're too old, too dangerous," Tonks had taunted him bitterly he moment she'd managed to get him alone in his room to talk. "But you're not too dangerous or too shabby for little Hermione Granger, are you? You're a lying, double-crossing, pedophilic _beast,_" she'd screamed, and then flickered away into the flames, leaving Lupin's heart somewhere far below the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't Tonks' anger that had thrown him. He'd known that something like this was bound to break at some point. She'd never understand that he simply couldn't return her affections, no matter how hard he tried, or that he saw her as a little sister, rather than a desirable woman.

What had shocked Lupin was how true Tonks' heated insults really were. He hadn't changed as a person, and everything that was true for Tonks was just as true for Hermione. Lupin was thirty seven years old, unemployed, a member of a peril-seeking anti-Voldemort league, and, of course, a werewolf. For him to think that he was in any position to sue for Hermione's affections was preposterous, and for him to let her know how strongly he felt about her was nothing less than cruel. He could hurt her, he could even kill her, and he had the audacity to think that he could love her.

He hated himself. He'd been sitting in his bedroom, listening to Tonks, and thinking about just how awful a situation he'd put Hermione into, when she'd walked in. When he'd seen the shock and horror on her face, he'd known that she loathed him just as much as he loathed himself, and although he almost wanted her to hate him, it was a blow to his heart that, on top of all the blows he'd taken in the battle, he didn't need.

"Hermione," he said again, his voice surprisingly calm, if rather faint. "Please, come out and let's talk this over."

Lupin waited. He thought he could hear footsteps behind Hermione's bedroom door, and, after a moment, the doorknob turned, and Hermione pushed the door open. She stood and looked bleakly at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes narrowed.

"Look," he began, before she could speak, "I don't think it's going to matter. We don't ever have to speak of it again. It was just…a mistake. We all make them. I'm sorry." He really was sorry. He couldn't' tell if she'd been crying. Her eyes were red, but not at all puffy, full of emotion, but none that he could satisfactorily name.

"A mistake," echoed Hermione dully.

"Yes," agreed Lupin, "a mistake. I think you should try to forget it ever happened. I don't want-!" Lupin stopped. He had wanted to say that he didn't want to lose her, but that sounded terrible, under the circumstances. "I don't want this to affect our working together, or our relationships within the Order."

"No," agreed Hermione, "no, that…that would be awful." There was something bitter in her tone that Lupin didn't understand. For some reason she was even more annoyed with him now that he'd tried to disavow those affections that had scared her so much. For one brief moment, his eyes met hers, and he wondered, desperately hopeful, if she wanted the moment they'd shared to have been more than a mistake.

But that didn't matter, he insisted to himself, forcing those incessant rays of hope back down into the depths of his frustrated heart where they belonged. It didn't matter if she entertained a schoolgirl crush, or even if she'd enjoyed it all. It was wrong, and he was wrong to try and make her-!"

"It wasn't a mistake," said Hermione quietly. "You don't make mistakes, Professor. You're too careful for that."

"We all do," repeated Lupin, a bit too forcibly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Am I really that repulsive?" she asked him, still cold. "I really never thought that I'd ever see a man look at me like that, or be so ashamed of kissing me that he'd look at me the way you just did. I really can't believe that I'm that horrible. I don't understand what made you change your mind."

Lupin blinked. "That's not-!" he started, and then stopped, frowning, trying to figure out how to say this to Hermione, who'd faced more menace in her short life so far than almost any other with or wizard her age. "You're not repulsive," he insisted gently. "I almost wish you were, Hermione, but it's not right."

He expected her to ask him why it wasn't right, or to put up some kind of heated protest. Instead, she looked at the ground, and asked shrewdly, "do you love me?"

Yes, thought Lupin immediately. "No," he said. Hermione closed her eyes as if she was in pain. "That is to say," he continued, cursing himself, "yes. Of course I love you, you've always been an excellent student, a wonderful friend to Harry, to the people I care about. I'm very fond of you, Hermione."

"I didn't ask you if you were fond of me," she insisted. "I asked you if you loved me."

"You're a little girl," murmured Lupin, willing himself to keep his face calm and collected. "You're seventeen. It's normal for girls your age to feel…to feel like they care about older men, but this has gone too far, and I can't allow it to continue."

Hermione looked very thoughtful. She bit her lip, looking anywhere but at Lupin as she spoke. "I don't know what being in love really feels like," she said. "I guess that's normal for a 'little girl.'" She spoke those last words without bitterness, but with an unmistakable emphasis. "I imagine that love feels a lot less awful if it's returned. Don't you think, Professor?"

Lupin couldn't take his eyes away from her face, even if she wouldn't look at him. She meant every word of it, he realized, and she meant all of the things that she hadn't put into words yet as well. She really did genuinely think that she loved him. It should have felt warm, but it still felt wrong, felt forced, as though he'd drawn this out of her with trickery.

"I'm a werewolf," he reminded her. "I almost tried to eat you in your third year at school, when I was loose on the Hogwarts grounds with Sirius. You remember?"

Hermione nodded. Very slowly, she turned her eyes back to his, and then reached up, and pulled aside the collar of her robes, revealing a corner of white neck, and shrugging. "Whatever will happen, will happen," she said.

Lupin stared at the patch of skin she'd revealed, as if offering it up to him to bite, to taint, and to disfigure. He felt sick. "No," he whispered, backing slightly away from her, shaking his head, still staring at her bared neck. "It isn't okay."

Hermione took a step towards him, put her hand on his arm, and he jerked it away from her abruptly. She dropped her arm back to her side, her eyes reproachful. "Go back to your room," he said huskily. "You…should be in bed, resting. I'll go and get your mother."

"I don't need my mother," Hermione called after him, but Lupin wasn't listening. He hurried away from her, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen, all too aware that she was watching his back as he went. You're an idiot, a small voice said loudly in the back of his mind. You've thrown away the thing you've been craving for longer than you're willing to admit, and now you've hurt her, and you won't get it back.

Well, he reasoned with himself, that was probably all for the best.  
But both of those voices in his head were wrong. Before he'd even managed to get halfway down the stairs, Hermione's arms were around his shoulders, and she was holding on to him, preventing him from going any farther.

"I'm not afraid of you," she told him.

Lupin laughed darkly. "I thought I told you years ago that no good can come from trying to be fearless."

"You did," agreed Hermione. "I ignored you. Sorry, Professor."

She stepped around him, so that she was standing just below him on the stairs, and, tilting her chin up and standing on her tiptoes to reach him, she kissed him.

Lupin closed his eyes. Hermione reached up through his sleeves so that she was clutching his bare arms, gripping them tightly as she leaned farther into the kiss. She was such a slight thing, he thought, even as his mind numbed to the sensation of her lips against his. He could dislodge her without the slightest effort, and yet he couldn't bring himself to move her. He'd never known Hermione to be aggressive before. Assertive yes, courageous, certainly, but not aggressive.

"Live and learn," she whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "I have to protect myself and my own best interests. There isn't always someone there determined to protect them for me."

For the first time, Lupin allowed himself to realize that she wasn't a little girl anymore. Young as she was, she was hardly a child, and she was more emotionally mature than most of the witches and wizards his own age that he knew.

One of them was trembling, and he couldn't be sure if it was him or Hermione. Perhaps it was both of them. He rested his head on her shoulder, kissing her collarbone, and then, in one decisive movement, swept her up off her feet and into his arms. Hermione let out a small squeak of protest, but when he stopped, worried that he'd unsettled her, she kissed his cheek, and tightened her grip on his arms to regain her equilibrium. He felt himself starting towards Hermione's bedroom, almost unconsciously, but now she did struggle, and he released her, letting her feet hit the floor and relaxing his hold on her waist.

"Mum and dad," she said, in a small, apologetic voice. She sounded just a bit more frightened than she had moments ago.

Lupin nodded. His heart was pounding very fast, and Tonks' head kept appearing in his mind's eye, screaming at him. "You beast," Tonks kept saying in his head. "You lying _beast__**."**_


	10. Honesty is the Best Policy

**Author's Note: **Thank you to absolutely everyone who read and reviewed, it really is incredibly encouraging.

I am terribly sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I've been insanely busy lately. I'll try to be better about updating in the future.

!Menolly

**Chapter Ten: Honesty is the Best Policy**

As Hermione descended the stairs into the kitchen the next morning, she saw Lupin disappear into the fireplace. Her mother sat at the table, sipping tea absently, watching him leave with an interested sort of distaste on her face. Alarmed, Hermione took the last of the steps two at a time, careening into the room and causing her mother to give her a rather surprised look.

"Where's Professor Lupin gone?" Hermione asked, before Mrs. Granger had a chance to speak. "He's not leaving, is he?"

If Mrs. Granger noticed anything remarkable about her daughter's desperate tone, she didn't say anything about it. "Not at all," she replied, serenely. "He said he had an urgent call this morning, and that he'd be back before noon with any luck. Sit down and have some tea. The Professor told me that I was to make sure you got plenty of rest today. He seems to think that you're still suffering a bit from your injury. How are you feeling?"

Hermione thought about that, and decided that in light of all the totally unexpected recent events, she really wasn't sure. "Fine," she said, around her thoughts. "I feel fine, thanks, mum. Don't worry about it."

"I'm a mother," murmured Mrs. Granger, with a small smile. "That's what I do, I worry." Standing up, she pulled out a chair for Hermione, who took it, feeling awkward. She didn't really have any idea what to say, and she wasn't sure how much her mother had overhead the evening before. She didn't really want to broach the subject if she didn't have to, but if she didn't, and Mrs. Granger already knew, then she'd be in even more uncomfortable waters.

"Mum," she began, a bit too forcibly.

"What's really nice," interrupted Mrs. Granger, "is that, even in the midst of all this horrible turmoil, we still are having exceptionally lovely late-May weather. Don't you think, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked. "What? Oh…yes, I thought so too. It's a beautiful day."

Mrs. Granger smiled, and Hermione was suddenly sure that she didn't have to tell her mother anything. Mrs. Granger continued to gaze distantly down at her teacup, smiling in a lost sort of way. "Next year is your last year at school, I think," she began. "Isn't that right? Seventeen was the age of majority for wizards and witches. I think that's what you told me."

"Yes," agreed Hermione, "but…I'll be seventeen in a month."

"Oh, trust me, I know," chuckled Mrs. Granger. "I'm losing my little girl all too quickly…but I guess it's part of parenthood. Still, all of my friends get to keep their babies until the little ones are eighteen. I feel a bit jilted by the whole thing."

Hermione clasped her mother's hand warmly. "Don't be silly, mum," she said. "Nothing will change between now and a month from now. I'll still be just exactly the same person as I am."

"And the person who you are is not a little girl anymore," murmured Mrs. Granger. Then, turning away from her daughter with another of her listless smiles, she finished her tea, and brought both her and Hermione's cups up to the sink.

Hermione returned to her room, thoughtfully pulling at the long curly braid which she'd kept in her hair while she was sleeping. She had promised herself that this morning, she would send an owl to Ron and to Harry, to let them know what was going on. She needed to talk to someone; she couldn't bear keeping all of this a secret any longer. They were the only people whom she really felt safe trusting with a description of the Death Eater attacks, and of…everything else.

As Hermione didn't have an owl of her own, she often used the Hogsmeade post office to mail her notes. IT occurred to her briefly that she could simply pop in on the Burrow and pay Ron a surprise visit, to tell him everything in person. She imagined the look on Ron's face when she told him that she was entering into an ill-advised romance with a former Hogwarts Professor, and the idea of visiting him died instantly. She couldn't think of how she'd word that particular piece of news in a way that wouldn't make Ron come tearing out to find her and kill her himself. There was no chance that he, the boy who had thought he'd only recently won Hermione's heart, would see reason on that score.

She was a bit sad to discover that the little piece of her, the piece that had harbored what she had thought were deep romantic feelings for her red-headed friend had died entirely. She'd always known that Ron wasn't the one, and yet it had been so nice to think that she could fall for someone so close at hand, and so near to her and Harry's hearts. She loved Ron, but without that same passionate need that she had for sad-eyed, troubled Remus Lupin. How strange, she thought, the way our emotions play these nasty tricks on us.

She decided to tell Harry, rather than Ron, because Harry would at least try to understand. No doubt he'd be equally horrified, but at least he'd attempt to convince himself that he could come to terms with his best friend and a member of his father's high school gang were involved. She needed someone mature enough, gentle enough to handle her feelings delicately at the moment, and Harry would probably do that. He'd learned a lot since his first kiss with aggressive and peevish Cho Chang, and Hermione had to admit that she was impressed with his recent sensitivity. Maybe that was partially Ginny Weasley's doing.

Drawing out a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen from one of her bedroom drawers, Hermione sat on the bed, and attempted to write.

_Dear Harry,_ she began. _I hope you're having an excellent summer._ Frowning, she stopped, and crossed that part out. Of course he wasn't having an excellent summer. If he wasn't' trapped with his horrible aunt and uncle, he was probably being hidden away by the Order of the Phoenix, and wasn't very likely to be having a great deal of fun. _Dear Harry,_ she wrote afresh, _I hope that you're well. _That was better.

_It's really kind of amazing how much has happened in such a short period of time, _she went on, thinking as she wrote. _I have so many things to tell you, and I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Don't be angry at me, Harry, for keeping all of this quiet until now. Professor Lupin insisted that it was totally top secret, and I haven't told anyone. _And, at the mention of Lupin, Hermione realized that she'd now have to explain exactly how she'd ended up in his house, and what had been going on there.

She balked at the task. It would be hard enough to keep Harry from rushing off to find her when he heard that she'd been attacked by Death Eaters more than once. It was unthinkable to compound that with descriptions of…other events. She let out an exasperated sigh, and let go of the paper so that it dropped off her lap and drifted to the floor. It would take a good deal more thought and planning on her part, she decided, to figure out how to phrase this one.

"What's that?" asked Lupin, striding into the bedroom. Hermione looked up, and was surprised to see that he was holding a large bouquet of peaky-looking purple flowers in one hand. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he smiled slightly. "I thought we could at least pretend to start this off…you know, the way one's supposed to. Romantically."  
Lupin held out the bouquet, and Hermione took it, both touched, and trying not to laugh at the same time. There was something almost childish about the gesture, and yet terribly grave and appropriate. Laying the flowers down on her bedside table, she smiled back at him, and Lupin looked suddenly just a little bit less weary.

He sat down next to her on the bed, and she squeezed over to one side to make room for him. Eyeing the letter at her feet, Lupin frowned. "I think we'd best leave those explanations for another day," he murmured. "In the midst of everything that's going on at the Order, I don't think they need any more little shocks."

Hermione winced. "I believe in honesty being the best policy," she announced feebly.

"So do I," agreed Lupin, looking uncomfortable. Hermione realized he was just as nervous as she was about letting the truth come out. Then again, she reasoned with herself, it made more sense for him to be concerned. No matter what she did, everyone could always say that she had been silly and childish, whereas Remus Lupin had a mature reputation to uphold.

"Oh well," she sighed, shrugging and dismissing the letter with a gesture. "You're probably right. It can wait." She leaned over, and hesitantly kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, and she drew swiftly away, although she was unsure exactly why the reaction had so alarmed her.

"I'm sorry," said Lupin, his eyes fixed on the letter. Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said, "it's okay. We'll…we'll get used to it, I think. It'll get easier, eventually."

"This shouldn't be difficult," muttered Lupin, chuckling mirthlessly. "Romance isn't supposed to be a chore."

Hermione looked fixedly at him, until he finally glanced up into her face. "Is what's happening to us a chore for you?" she asked him, more curious than hurt.

"Yes," he said, shrugging. "It's slightly terrifying to be...involved with a girl you taught in school, whom you watched grow up as the best friend of your childhood companion's son. It feels absolutely vile. And," he added, reaching up and taking Hermione's chin between his fingers, "it's also amazing, and incredible. Bear with me."

He kissed her, gently, but steadily, and she nodded. "I will."

* * *

"I've been to headquarters," Lupin told her, when they were standing in the kitchen a quarter of an hour later, washing some leftover dishes. Mrs. Granger had gone out, and Hermione was trying to do her part to clean up after herself. It was only appropriate, she thought. After all, she'd better be nice to her mother, since Mrs. Granger seemed determine not to say anything about any tensions she may have noticed between her daughter and Lupin.

"Why?" asked Hermione, as she slid a sopping wet plate on to the counter for Lupin to dry. "What's going on?"

"We're being reassigned," he replied, with a sigh. "Tonks and Charlie are being taken off your house and moved…somewhere else, for the time being. After all, it seems unlikely that there will be another attack, now that Voldemort's followers know your home is fully guarded."

"But it's not fully guarded, not anymore," insisted Hermione, disturbed. "If all of you leave-!"  
"We certainly aren't all going to leave," Lupin assured her quickly. "I, for one, am not going anywhere."

That's a relief, thought Hermione, although she didn't say anything of the sort out loud. Instead, she said, "and where's everyone getting reassigned to? Have you discovered a hideout, or something?"

Lupin scrubbed very pointedly at one of Mr. Granger's coffee mugs, not looking at Hermione. "I…can't tell you that," he demurred. "It's Order business."

Hermione snorted. "Fine," she said, whipping a towel at the last of the plates, and turning towards him. "Keep your Order secrets. That certainly does the Chosen One a lot of good."

"You," started Lupin, "are not-!"  
"No," retorted Hermione, "I'm not. I'm his best friend, and I care more about him than most of you do…present company perhaps excluded." She nodded curtly at him. "So you might as well tell me what you all are planning, so that I can help if need be. I'll be of age in a very short time, and I've already told you that it makes no sense to keep an able-bodied witch in the dark about all of this. You're not protecting me' by letting me be ignorant of the danger, either."

Lupin hesitated, but only for a moment. Hermione's determined stare and pointedly calm words did seem to be working their magic on him. "We have our suspicions," he said simply, "about a Ministry official by the name of Musetta Paolini. We think she might be the link between the Ministry of Magic, and the Death Eater headquarters. Tonks and Kingsley are supposed to be looking into it, subtly, and Charlie's acting as a second assistant to Arthur, so that he can be in on Ministry doings as well. It's a shot in the dark, to be perfectly honest, but we shouldn't leave any stone unturned."

"Musetta Paolini…" Hermione said the name slowly, as if working her lips around it, trying to figure out where she'd heard it before.

"She is renowned," added Lupin, noticing Hermione's thoughtful look, "for discovery of and excellence at certain obscure aspects of memory modification magic, such as memory locking, and recollection replacement."

"Oh yes." Hermione remembered now. She'd read about Musetta Paolini in the History of the Ministry – Third Edition, while she was trying to discover what took place in the Department of Mysteries. "She applied for the position of Minister, but never got it, because-!"

"Because," finished Lupin, "it's very difficult to trust a woman who invented her own means of re-creating the truth." His eyes clouded over briefly, and Hermione thought with equal disgust of Severus Snape, who had fooled them all with his flawless use of Occlumency.

"But you're staying here," Hermione said, although it was more of a question than a statement. "You're not going to spy on the Ministry with the rest of them. Did…that is, was everyone all right with you staying…with me?"

"No one in the Order had a problem with my continuing on as your guard," murmured Lupin, although something in his tone made Hermione think that his 'no one,' did not include Nymphadora Tonks. "Moody's been watching Harry, and Molly and Arthur are both capable wizards who are able to look out for their own."

Hermione was forced to assume that Lupin, like her, hadn't told anyone about their recent meeting of minds. No doubt if he had, the Order wouldn't be so eager to let the two of them remain in close quarters. All the better, she decided. It would just be their little secret then…for the moment.

But Tonks knows, said a voice in the back of Hermione's head. She knows, and she'll tell. You don't want to be caught red-handed. You'd better tell everyone before she has a chance.

"Done," said Lupin, plunking a clean glass on to one of the shelves containing the dishes. "You'll be of age soon, you said? Good. When you are, we won't have to do this by hand."


	11. Something Helpful

**Author's Note: **Yes, this chapter departs from my usual style in that it is a load of fluff. Well, let's face it, they really do need a break from all the angst. Otherwise, they might explode. So here you have Lupin and Hermione being generally cute and in love. Heaps of angst and heart-wrenching love scenes to continue…after we have some fun.

And yes, I know this chapter should, according to the structure, be from Lupin's perspective, but we'll deviate from that a bit. Obviously this one has to be from Hermione's. You'll see why.

Menolly

**Chapter Eleven: Something Helpful**

The next two days were shockingly pleasant. Mr. and Mrs. Granger did not, as Hermione had half expected hem to, throw Lupin bodily from the premises, or berate him for taking advantage of their only daughter. They did not question Hermione incessantly about any subject which she did not wish to discuss. Mr. Granger, in fact, seemed to be blissfully unaware of the entire totally heinous intrigue going on right under his roof. Only Mrs. Granger let on that she understood, and she was strangely quiet about it, so quiet that Hermione began to worry, although she really couldn't understand what it was that was making her so agitated.

"Parents are supposed to be overprotective," she told Lupin, entering his room one morning before breakfast. "It doesn't feel right, that's all. Like…like they don't even care."

"Nonsense," murmured Lupin, rummaging in the bag that he kept beneath the bed as he spoke. "They've just realized that you're a grown woman now, and that they can't exercise any valuable control over your life. All parents reach that understanding at some point. I imagine it's very difficult. You should be grateful, not suspicious."

Lupin reached into the bag, and pulled out a very large, opaque black tankard, which made a sickening sort of sloshing sound as he swung it up towards him. Pulling the cork, he cast a dubious eye into the depths of the thing, and then took a long swig of it, before re-corking it, and stowing it again under the bed. "Not a particularly polite way of taking my medicine, I know," he said, smiling at Hermione's raised eyebrows. "But I'm sure you'll forgive me the rude oversight."

Of course, thought Hermione, exasperated with herself as realization dawned. He had to have been taking his wolfs bane potion somehow. Even if she hadn't seen it, he must have been keeping it in that bag of his all along.

An unpleasant odor wafted towards her from the direction of the bag, and she wrinkled her nose, shying away from the edge of the bed. The wolfsbane potion was, and had always been absolutely foul in every way. She couldn't imagine how he managed to gulp the stuff down like that. To be sure, the benefits were more than worth the discomfort, but still…

"Disgusting," he muttered, with a little sigh. "Absolutely vile." Lupin sat back against the bed, and turned a long suffering smile on Hermione. "The woes of being a werewolf. Oh. That reminds me. I don't suppose your parents…know that I'm a werewolf, do they?"  
His smile faded, and he bit his lip, no doubt, Hermione decided, thinking about what sort of effect that would have on Mr. and Mrs. Granger's feelings about Lupin and Hermione's relationship. She, however, didn't dwell on that thought long. She'd just had an idea, one that was much more uplifting than any speculations about the trials that her parents would put on their romance.

"Wait here," she told Lupin, turning around swiftly and heading for the door. She had one quick glance of his slightly surprised expression as she clicked the door shut behind her, and made her way towards the stairs that led to the kitchen.

"That's certainly unexpected," said Mrs. Granger, after Hermione had rushed into the kitchen and begun to outline her plan. "You've never expressed any interest in baking before. Are the other girls at school getting into it, or something?"

"Something like that," muttered Hermione quickly. "I mean, you know, I just thought it would be an interesting experiment, seeing if one could bake a potion into a…a cake, or something. Or a muffin. Yes, a muffin would be perfect. You can eat muffins in one bite. That way, the school nurse would be able to heal cuts and bruises with healing potions disguised as sweets. Imagine how much less awful it would be for sick students?"

"Imagine how much more popular the hospital wing would get," murmured Mrs. Granger, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I have to admit though, you've aroused my curiosity. Do you have any potions here that we could use? Mild ones, mind you, I don't want anything exploding in my kitchen. Lord knows what a magical catastrophe could do to my upholstery."

Oh, thought Hermione, grimacing inwardly. She hadn't thought to actually procure the potion before she'd gone rushing off to ask her mother to teach her to bake pastries. That would be a trick, especially since Lupin was clearly hesitant to let Mrs. Granger know anything about his…well, his condition. "I'll work on it," she promised. "I'll…just go get one now, actually."

Just as Hermione began to think over various half-truths that she could tell to win Lupin's wolfsbane potion, Mrs. Granger spoke again.

"All right," she said, "I'd love to help. But you I hope you remember what happened the last time that you and I tried to bake something together. A birthday cake, I think it was, when you were in your third year at school."

Hermione blinked. She couldn't recall.

"It turned into a giant, oozing, magenta-colored mass, complete with candles floating in the frosting," Mrs. Granger reminded her. "I think you used a bit too much food coloring, and not enough batter."

Oh yes, thought Hermione, wincing. Now she remembered.

Getting the wolfsbane potion proved a good deal easier than Hermione had predicted. For some reason or other, Lupin wasn't in his room when she returned to it, and she managed to slip the flagon out from his bag, and fill a plastic cup with the disgusting substance without having to make up any creative excuses. Worried that he might just have gone to the bathroom, and would burst in on her at any moment, she hurried down the stairs as quickly as she could, the glass of green liquid clutched in one hand.

Mrs. Granger was waiting for her in the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant looking potion, but seemed to have expected nothing better, and took the glass from Hermione with only the most imperceptible of shudders. She'd already begun to prepare a gooey mixture of eggs, flour and flour, which Hermione presumed was ultimately going to be some sort of cake batter.

"Oh," said Hermione, as Mrs. Granger's fingers drifted towards a nearby bag of sugar. "That reminds me, we um…we can't use any sugar, or the potion won't have any effect anymore. I forgot."

Mrs. Granger frowned. "It's not going to taste very good if we don't put any sweetener in."

Hermione shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she insisted. "It's got o taste better than drinking the potion straight, with sugar or without. Anything would." She reached over, and, retrieving the wolfsbane from her mother, she upended it into the batter. It hissed and sputtered as the greenish bubbles came in contact with the much more innocent looking yellowish sludge of the mixture.

"What exactly are the effects of this potion, anyway?" Mrs. Granger asked, beginning to stir the wolfsbane into the batter with one large wooden spoon. "You've never said. What's all the fuss for? I imagine it's something very important, if you're so eager to make it palatable."

The potion had begun to eat away at the edges of the spoon, so that when Mrs. Granger lifted one end out of the batter, Hermione could see that there were burn marks and chunks missing all across the spoon's wooden bottom. Clearing her throat to distract her mother's attention from this mutilation of her utensils, Hermione chose her words very carefully before speaking.

"It's a medicine," she said, after a moment's thought. "It cures certain wizarding sicknesses. Professor Lupin takes it."

"Does he, now." Mrs. Granger looked mildly disturbed. "I hope it's not contagious, whatever he's got. I wouldn't want the family to be getting sick with stuff that we have no idea how to cure. No idea how our immune systems would handle magical ailments."

"Don't worry," Hermione assured her mother. "It's more of a preventative thing. As long as he takes it, he won't get sick."

"Oh, well. That's all right, then." Mrs. Granger smiled, and then poured the now puce-colored sludge into a nearby cake tin, which had several indentations in it, as if to make a series of little cakes or muffins. "I wonder if your father could use a potion like that to prevent people from getting cavities…but then again, I wouldn't want you to do anything that would get you in trouble, and if anything went wrong, no doubt we'd be at a loss how to fix it. Better not, I suppose."  
"Better not," Hermione agreed, feeling slightly sick. It annoyed her how easily she lied to her mother, and yet, she knew there wasn't any way that she could say what it was this potion really prevented. Lying's not a bad thing, she told herself, if you're only doing it to protect someone. Even as she thought it, she knew that wasn't entirely true.

"Well let them cool on the shelf when they're done," Mrs. Granger was saying, "and then we'll put them in the cabinet over night, so that you can serve them for breakfast tomorrow morning. Er…that is, to the Professor. I think your father and I will stick to toast, if that's all right with you, dear."

The next morning, Hermione knocked on Lupin's bedroom door at six-thirty sharp. She could hear him rustling around inside, as he disentangled himself from the bedclothes. Several moments passed in silence before he seemed to have gathered himself together sufficiently. "Come in," he called out, in a hoarse morning voice.

Hermione entered, balancing a plate full of greenish muffins in one hand. Lupin smiled when he saw her, and then cast a dubious, alarmed look at the plate of pastries. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took a few quick steps over to her, and relieved her of the plate, as several muffins were looking as though they might tumble off the edge. He placed it on the end table next to the bed, careful to make sure that it was set far enough away from the edge to be stable, before turning questioning eyes back to Hermione.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing at the plate. "Looks as though you've overdone it a bit with the food coloring."

Hermione shook her head. "Very funny, Professor," she said. "They're um…they're wolfsbane muffins, actually. I thought they might be a nice change."

"Wolfsbane…muffins?" asked Lupin, biting his lip.

"I borrowed some of your potion yesterday," Hermione continued, rushing o n before he could protest the intrusion into his belongings. "I wanted to surprise you, you see. I made a batch of these last night, with my mom. Don't worry," she added, as Lupin opened his mouth to speak. "I didn't tell her what they were really for, I sort of…hedged around the truth, a bit. Anyway, the point is, they're made out of cake batter and wolfsbane potion. They might taste better than the stuff usually does when you drink it straight. I thought it was worth a try, anyway."

Lupin frowned. "Sugar," he began, but Hermione cut him off.

"I know, I know," she said impatiently. "I didn't use any sugar. So, you see, they'll work just fine, even if they aren't the best tasting breakfast pastries you've ever had." She sat down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands in front of her in some nervous agitation. "Try one, won't you? I want to know if they're any good."

Lupin hesitated for a moment, and then reached out and obligingly picked up one of the grimy looking muffins. "I really don't know what to say," he said as he regarded the pastry. "This was incredibly thoughtful of you, Hermione…I'm really touched." He turned one of his weary, but genuine smiles on her, and she glowed. Then she held her breath as he took a large bite of the muffin, and chewed thoughtfully.

Hermione watched his face anxiously for several moments, hoping to see the signs of his reaction to her cooking before he spoke. Lupin was inscrutable as ever, and she had to wait until he finished chewing before hearing the verdict.  
"This is really something," he said, nodding enthusiastically at the muffin still clutched in his hand. "A bit rich to eat all at once, however. I'll finish it in a bit, after I've gotten dressed."

"I'm so glad they worked," cried Hermione, beaming at him. He continued to smile back at her, until she realized that, if he was going to get changed, it would hardly do for her to keep lurking about in his room. Almost skipping in her delight, she exited the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He really had liked them, then, she told herself, thrilled with her success. She'd managed to do something genuinely helpful for him after all, and that was an extremely comforting thought.

She thought she heard th sounds of coughing from the inside of Lupin's room, and was just about to fling the door open again to check on him, when the coughing fit ceased. Must have swallowed some water down the wrong tube, or something, she thought. It happened to her father all the time when he was brushing his teeth.


	12. A Bit of Insight

**Author's Note: **Because when **Gueneviere **asked me how Brevity was going, I couldn't remember when my last update had been. Without further ado, I bring you some fun with Fred and George…and, next chapter, a return to your regularly scheduled angstfest.

Be forewarned; Brevity is beginning it's spiral into completion.

Thanks!

Menolly

**Chapter Twelve: A Bit of Insight**

Later that afternoon, there was a loud knock on the front door. Hermione and Lupin, where they were sitting at the kitchen table, looked up in some alarm, but Mrs. Granger moved forward to answer it immediately. "Mum," began Hermione, raising a warning hand. Lupin knew that after the Death Eater attacks, she felt far from comfortable with unexpected visitors, and he didn't blame her at all.

Mrs. Granger, however, ignored her. She pulled open the door, and a pair of very familiar, friendly voices greeted her immediately.

"Good afternoon," came a bright male voice from just outside. "Is this the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Granger?"

Hermione shrieked with delight, and was on her feet and at her mother's side before Lupin had a chance to blink. Mrs. Granger stepped aside to make way for her guests, and, freckled and beaming as always, Fred and George Weasley strode into the room.

"Hullo, Hermione, Remus," said Fred. "Did you miss us?"

"I expect they did," added George, "seeing as there aren't any other wizards or witches living in these parts. It must get mighty dull around here, come to think of it."

"We can't have that, can we?" asked Fred. "Never fear, my dears, Fred and George are here!"

Mrs. Granger coughed politely from over by the counter, and Fred and George both turned to look at her.

"Good gracious," exclaimed George, in mock horror, "where on earth are our manners? Mrs. Granger, I assume?"

"I'm George," said Fred, extending a hand towards her in greeting, "and this is my brother Fred."

"A pleasure to meet you, George," said Mrs. Granger, shaking Fred's hand.

"You too, of course!" agreed George. Mrs. Granger glanced at him, frowning in some uncertainty. Hermione, uncharacteristically, giggled.

"How are you?" Lupin asked George, shaking his hand and gesturing for him to take the chair to Lupin's left. "How are Molly and Arthur, and the others? Have you seen much of them?"

"No," said George, a bit sadly. "We've been out and about, you know, and there hasn't been a lot of time to check up on the family."

"We'd hoped you could tell us how they were," agreed Fred. "I guess if you've been cooped up here – sorry, Hermione – then you wouldn't know any more about it than we would, would you? Ah, well."

"We'd have heard, though," George said, "if anything was amiss, so I'm sure it's all well and good on the home front. Good of you to ask, Remus. I hear the two of you have been up to your necks in exciting happenings, though. You really do have all the luck."

"Hardly the word," muttered Lupin, raising his eyebrows at the inexhaustible twins. He couldn't help but be somewhat alarmed by the appearance of Fred and George. Although smiling merrily and speaking with their usual bombastic fervor, both of them looked very tired, and their faces were creased with worry lines, so that they bore more of a resemblance than ever to their kindly mother.

Hermione must have noticed the change as well. "Where have you been?" she asked, with a good deal of concern in her voice. "You look…well, you look really…" She seemed to be having trouble finding a word, and bit her lip, glancing at her mother as if for some sort of assistance. When none came, she let out an exasperated breath, and added, "Fred, your head is bleeding!"

Lupin glanced up at Fred, and saw that, indeed, there was a nasty looking cut right above Fred's eye that was still dripping blood. Raising his wand, Lupin murmured, "Sanus." Nothing happened. The cut continued to ooze blood.

"Yeah," muttered Fred, "I've tried that already. Didn't do me very much good, as you can see. It's not really all that painful." He rubbed at the wound with one finger as he spoke, and winced, giving the lie to his words.

Mrs. Granger was suddenly at his side, one of her hands running along the side of his forehead next to the cut. Fred blinked at her, startled, but she ignored him, and began plastering a gauze strip across his forehead. "Did no one ever teach you two how to use a band-aid?" she asked, exchanging a look with her daughter. "If you can't make the bleeding disappear, you can at least stop it from getting all over the floor, thank you."

George chuckled, as Fred awkwardly patted the bandage now plastered over his head. "We can see where Hermione gets her mothering ways, can't we, Fred?"

"I thought you said that your name was Fred," Mrs. Granger demanded of George.

* * *

"So," asked Lupin, a good quarter of an hour later, after Hermione and Mrs. Granger had provided them with tea and several more spare Muggle bandages, "what exactly happened?" 

"You don't want to know," muttered Fred.  
"Absolutely disastrous," agreed George, grimacing. "Embarrassing, to tell you the truth and we're no farther along with the Paolini mystery than we were when we started this ill-advised exploration."

"But," insisted Lupin doggedly, "you still haven't explained what it is you've been trying to do."

George shot a guilty look at Mrs. Granger, who let out a long sigh, and then rose from her seat at the table, clearing a couple of cups out of Fred and George's way as she did so. "This is all top secret, and I'm sure I'm not privileged enough to hear the details. I'll just go upstairs and amuse myself, shall I?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but, before she'd even had a chance to speak, Mrs. Granger had left the room. They heard the sound of her bedroom door snapping shut, and Hermione turned on Fred and George with an indignant look.

"She's been through plenty lately, because of me, and because of the Order. Mum's certainly seen and heard enough to be allowed to know what's going on," she said hotly.

Fred shrugged. "I agree," he said simply, "but orders from the Order are…well…orders, you know. No, really," he added, when Hermione looked skeptical. "I know we're not one to pay much attention to figures of authority, but this stuff's serious."

"Nothing to joke around about here, I'm afraid," said George, with an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

Lupin frowned.

"I think you'd better tell us exactly what's been going on, then," said Hermione calmly, after a moment's pause. "With all of the details, if you please. From the beginning."

George looked at Fred, who shook his head firmly, and said, "No, no, really. Be my guest."

"Okay," sighed George, "well, I guess the main point is that Fred and I have been conducting…covert investigations, if you will, at the Ministry of Magic."

"They were supposed to be covert, anyway," muttered Fred.

"We've been visiting dad at the Ministry for weeks, on and off, just so that we could get a look around," George continued. "Made sense, seeing as we're his sons, and all. Nobody could find anything particularly strange about us bringing him lunch in the afternoons; you know, innocent stuff like that. Well, last night, we figured it was just about time to make our real break in."

"I thought," interrupted Lupin, holding up a hand, "that Arthur and Charlie were responsible for tailing Ms. Paolini, not you two."

"Yeah, well, they were," agreed Fred, "but we figured that it was better if the two of us got into some sort of trouble, so that dad wouldn't lose his job, and subsequently his use to the Order." He looked irritated, and Lupin could imagine why. More than once, he'd wondered how exactly Arthur felt about all of the dangers he'd been through for the Order simply because he happened to be a Ministry official. Fred and George, no doubt, resented what they must consider the abuse of their father very highly. "We stayed behind after everybody else had closed up and gone home for the day, even the security guards. We just hung about in Dad's office for a bit, and then headed up to see if we couldn't get into that Paolini woman's rooms."

"Needless to say," said George, "we couldn't do that. We couldn't' so much as walk in. The moment we'd unlocked the door with that magical knife that Harry lent us, every single book on every single one of the shelves dive bombed us, so w couldn't even see where we were going."

"Awful maniacal witch must have charmed every single piece of furniture in her office," snarled Fred, "so that it would attack anybody who came too close, who didn't look like her. Not entirely sure how we got out of there so thankfully unharmed, to tell the truth. Stroke of pure luck, if you ask me."

Hermione tutted at them, drawing a surprised expression from George. "Well, that was stupid," she said, planting one hand on her hip. "Of course she was going to have the place jinxed, surely you must have been expecting something like that. No doubt if you'd waited a little bit longer and let your father and Charlie do what they were supposed to be doing, you wouldn't have run in to all the trouble."

Fred cast her a resentful look, while George completely ignored her.

"Wait a moment" said George, shaking his head. "We never said the whole thing was totally worthless. Just as we were running for the door, Fred managed to grab this." He reached into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out a small, sleek looking volume. Lupin leaned forward, and read on the cover, The Art of Memory, by Musetta Paolini.

"We reckon it'll help give us a bit of insight into how it is she's bewitching the Ministry to do her bidding," said Fred, smiling with some pride at the book in Lupin's hand. "Course, you're the Dark Arts expert around here, Remus, and no one could do better with that book than you could, so we figured we'd best bring it right over and put it into your keeping."

Lupin couldn't help but feel some genuine excitement as he stared down at the book. For all of the ill-advisedness of Fred's and George's trip into the Ministry, there was no doubt in his mind that this book would be the key to unraveling some of the mystery behind the apparent Death Eater takeover of the Ministry.

"Well," murmured Hermione, also looking at the book, "I mean, if this is one of her published works, then it's hardly something we couldn't get off the shelves at Flourish and Blotts. I can't see how it'll reveal anything the public doesn't already have easy access to."

"Ah," said George, "that's the trick, isn't it? This book isn't one of her best-selling pieces of memory mumbo jumbo. This, my dear Hermione, is the real deal."

"Yeah," agreed Fred, "I expect this is the place where she really keeps all of her good spells. George and I had a quick look at it ourselves, and we've never heard of anyone other than Albus Dumbledore doing anything this complex with memory modification before. Never fear, this is what we're looking for."

But, thought Lupin, biting his lip, if no one but Dumbledore has ever managed to work with spells like these, then what exactly does everyone expect me to do with it?

"Well," said Fred, glancing down at his watch, "I think it's time that George and I got going back to Headquarters. Wouldn't want to worry anyone, as we haven't been back since our botched break in."

"Do tell mum hello for us, if you see here, won't you?" added George. "Take care of yourselves, you two. And don't do anything that we wouldn't do!"

As they both raised their wands over their heads, Fred glanced at George, and asked, "What exactly would we not do, George?"

"Dunno," said George, with a shrug, and then both of them turned in a circle, and vanished into thin air.

Hermione put a hand on Lupin's forearm, taking his attention away from the book, which he still hadn't convinced himself to open. "Let's take it upstairs," she suggested, "so that we can look at it in better light."

Lupin wasn't sure he wanted to look at it at all. Half of him had absolutely no desire to know what kind of powerful magic they were up against, so that he'd still be able to harbor that little bit of hope that he held so dear.


	13. Something Sacred

**Author's Note: **Oh dear. It's come to my attention that for some reason, I've been portraying Hermione as sixteen in this fic, when in fact we know that in canon she is already seventeen by the time she reaches the summer before her seventh year. Therefore, for the rest of the fic, she will be seventeen, and I will go back and correct the mistakes in the previous chapters ASAP, so that the story corresponds as well with canon as is possible.

I also apologize tremendously for the long delay. I have been having a nasty time of it with that ever-present real life thing, but I'm back now.

Thanks for being so indulgent!

Menolly

**Chapter Thirteen: Something Sacred**

For the rest of the day, Hermione left Lupin alone. It took a great deal of self restraint for her not to go rushing into his bedroom and demanding to look over the mysterious book that Fred and George had entrusted them with. Still, they'd come to give the book to Lupin, not to Hermione. That made sense, after all, seeing as he was the expert in the Dark Arts, and an older, experienced wizard to boot. She would just…wait.

Hermione did just that. She waited for the rest of the day, and then she waited into the next morning. By lunchtime, when she and her mother were clearing away the remains of their light meal from the kitchen table, Lupin still hadn't emerged from his room, and Hermione was starting to get just a little bit annoyed. Surely, she told herself, after everything they'd been through recently, he wouldn't continue to insist that she stay out of it, and "keep herself out of trouble."

The hours stretched on. The sun went down, and Mrs. Granger took herself and her husband off to bed early for once, leaving Hermione feeling awkwardly alone in the house. After rattling aimlessly in and out of silent rooms for several minutes, she finally found herself outside the door to Lupin's bedroom, and entered quietly, without knocking.

Remus Lupin was bent double, his elbows perched on his kneecaps, his chin in one hand. All of his attention was fixed on the volume which he cradled in his lap, and Hermione had no doubt that it was in fact Paolini's book. One of his hands seemed plastered halfway through his silvery hair, and his eyelids kept drooping as he attempted to focus. When he heard Hermione's footsteps, he looked up, and frowned apologetically.

"I'm being reclusive," he murmured, shrugging and beckoning for her to join him. "I've been looking through this nightmare of a novel trying to find something that will give us an insight into how Paolini is controlling the Ministry of Magic, and to be completely honest, I can make neither head nor tail of half of the explanations I've been pouring over." He paused, and then, looking thoughtful, thrust the book out towards Hermione. "Here," he said, "maybe you can see something that I can't."

Attempting not to show the surprise she felt at being trusted with the contents of Paolini's masterwork, Hermione dutifully sat down next to Lupin on the bed, and took a quick look at the page he'd opened the book to. The heading, in curly, italic letters read "To Make a True Memory False."

"That's ridiculous," muttered Hermione, more to herself than to Lupin. "You can't make something true that isn't, or make the truth anything other than the truth. I don't care what she claims she can do, she can't change the facts of time by performing a memory charm."

"It might," murmured Lupin, with a low chuckle, "be simply a creative chapter heading."

Hermione didn't respond. She was conscious of Lupin's eyes on the back of her neck as she attempted to make something of the complex procedures listed under the offensive chapter title.

_The mind,_ wrote Paolini, _is a terrible thing to lose. For that reason, we like to preserve as much as we can of our memories. But is it really necessary that we always have some of those painful memories close to the surface, where we can easily access them? There's no need for this. With the use of modern magical formula, it is perfectly possible to reconstruct the framework of your memory so that you can be free from embarrassing and unfortunate recollections, while not ever losing them completely._

Fascinated by what she was reading, it took Hermione several moments to realize that Lupin had stretched one arm around her waist, and was pressing his lips against the back of her neck. She shivered involuntarily, and he drew back at once. She turned on him, and reached up with one hand to cup his face in her fingers.

"Well," he asked, somewhat awkwardly, "did you get anything out of it?"

She drew him down against her and kissed him, answering the tenderness of his lips with a confused mix of urgency and softness that she hadn't known herself capable of. Lupin's arms were around her again, and then they had fallen back together on the bed. One prematurely gray tendril of his hair hung down in front of his eyes, and Hermione absently pushed it away, so that she could see the alarmingly clear emotions battling within them.

Memory, thought Hermione, using her last vestige of analytical concentration, shouldn't be tampered with. It's something sacred that you keep with you, even when it's partially painful.

Finally, Lupin began to respond with more confidence to the passionate restraint of Hermione's fingers, and she closed her eyes, letting him rove his hands over her body, undo the buttons on the front of her blouse, and slide it over her shoulders. She arched her back, drawing her shoulders against his chest, and, even as she heard him let out a sigh of desire, he stopped, and let he fall gently back against the cushions.

"You," he said, in a voice that was no doubt a valiant attempt as his usual gentle, matter-of-fact tone, "are-!"

But Hermione wouldn't let him voice his doubts. She wouldn't believe for a moment that he could still deny his feelings for her, and any other protests he might have wanted to make would have fallen on deliberately deaf ears.

* * *

When she awoke, evening was falling outside the bedroom window. It took her a few drowsy moments to recall the events of what could only have been a few hours before. Hermione rolled over, and found that Remus Lupin's slim arms were still clasped around her waist, pressing her to him even as he slept. She kissed the top of his head, and he didn't move. With an inward laugh, Hermione recalled how sound a sleeper she had found him to be when she, Harry, and Ron had met him for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Thinking of her two best friends made her miss them very powerfully for the second time in as many weeks. Glancing down at Lupin, she wondered if he had any news of the two boys, and berated herself soundly for never bothering to ask him. He, on the inside of the Order of the Phoenix, would no doubt have all sorts of information to which she was not privy.

And then again, she thought, Lupin had spent so much time in taking care of her, that perhaps he'd lost all communications with the Order, and hadn't heard a thing, other than what Fred and George had told them on their recent visit. She was holding him back, then, from legitimate work and fighting, and yet it didn't seem as though he was at all displeased with the arrangement.

Paolini's book caught Hermione's eye from where it had fallen onto the floor next to the end of the bed. She stopped to retrieve it, and paged through it for several minutes, trying to figure out where she'd been reading from when she'd been so…pleasurably interrupted.

The room was very dark, and she had trouble making out the chapter headlines. She thought of going and switching on the light, but didn't want to risk waking Lupin, who was sleeping so peacefully. Squinting down at the book, she mouthed the words silently to herself, trying n vain to make out whether one letter was a t or an l.

At that moment, a shaft of light shone in from the window at her back, and she could very clearly read the line, _-is necessary to be careful with experimentation on mental faculties._ For a moment, she continued down the page, pleased at the good fortune of having such natural light. Then, all of a sudden, the message sent by that beam of light struck Hermione forcibly, and she whirled around to face the window.

Shimmering with merry menace just at the level of the bedroom window was the moon, large, full, and gleaming, shining it's evening light in on Hermione's frightened face. She dropped the book unceremoniously on the floor, and reached over to grasp Lupin's shoulder. There was no need.

Lupin was wide awake, although he'd been sleeping not a minute before. His eyes were fixed on the moon as well, and his mouth was working wordlessly. Hermione took his hand, but he threw her off with such force that she fell to the floor, bruising her elbow. Even as she watched, his arms began to sprout thick, brownish bristles of fur.

As he sat there on the bed, shaking and wincing while he slowly transformed from man into wolf, Hermione didn't move. Her first instinct was not, in fact to run. Instead, she reached out towards him, and took a step forward, wanting to somehow ease the pain that she could see writing in his wolfish eyes. With a snarl, he threw out one arm, and Hermione barely avoided being caught and clawed in the shoulder.

There was a tense moment in which Hermione hesitated, poised by the end of the bed, the book still clutched in one hand. Lupin rose to his feet in one staggering movement, and Hermione, releasing the book, took off running.

She grabbed the handle of the door, and swung herself around it just as Lupin leapt at her back. He struck the door with a huge amount of force, and she heard him clatter back on to the floor behind it. No longer lingering, she tore down the hallway, wondering desperately where she could hide herself that he wouldn't find her. She ran into the nearby bathroom, and Lupin, apparently having sufficiently demolished the door, came crashing down the hallway after her. She could hear him sniffing around outside the door, apparently unclear on where she'd gone.

The two of them stood there, uncertain, for several seconds. Hermione barely dared to breathe, as she felt the werewolf getting closer and closer to her hiding place. Then, all of a sudden, he entirely changed his direction, and his footsteps started off towards the other end of the hall, where the bedroom of Hermione's parents was. No doubt he' smelled them and had decided he'd do best to go somewhere in which he could take multiple victims at once, rather than continue to search for Hermione.

There was nothing for it. She burst out of the bathroom, and, reaching into the pocket of her robes, pulled out her wand, pointing it at his retreating back. "Hey!" she called out, although her own voice sounded timid and pathetic to her in the face of the ridiculous thing she was about to do. Lupin turned on her, and, leveling her wand, she shouted "Petrificus Totalus!"

A jet of green sparks flew out of her wand, and bouced harmlessly off of the werewolf's shaggy shoulder. Hermione swallowed hard.

It was then that she heard the voices coming from her parents' bedroom, and realized that she'd woken them with all of the noise. They couldn't' come out into the hall, she thought in a panic. If they came out into the hall, Lupin would undoubtedly be able to pick them off. "Muffliato!" she shouted, pointing her wand at her parents' door. "Claudo!"

The lock of the bedroom door clicked shut, and no more sound issued from within. Satisfied that she'd managed to at least temporarily protect her parents from the madness in the hallway, Hermione lowered her wand for a moment, and Lupin's claws came slicing down across her face. She let out a shriek and fell backwards on to the floor, her cheek oozing blood out of a jagged scratch. "Petrificus Totalus!" she screamed again. "Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"

The very last time she spoke the spell, her magic hit it's mark. Lupin, rigid and petrified, tottered on his hind legs for a moment, and then thudded down on to the floor beside her. Struggling against the grip of the spell, he tried to roll over, and managed to throw himself across Hermione's frame before becoming completely frozen. He hit her across the chest, and she, stunned by the force of the blow, finally let her consciousness slip away from her, and descended into the relief of darkness.


	14. Meant You No Harm

**Author's Note: **A short few notes;

For one thing, everyone should go read **The Sinews of Thy Heart **by **Amarielle. **It is a far far better fic she writes than I have ever written, and I very much fear that once you've read it, you won't ever come back. It's a chance I'm afraid I have to take.

Also, we're obviously all aware that TDH is released on Saturday. I will not be posting the first chapter of the sequel to this story until I have read all of TDH, and I will not be getting my copy on the day it is released, as no doubt many of you will be. I need a special large-print copy and it will take me at least a week before I can read the thing. There will, therefore, be at least a week of delays before I continue.

The third thing is, I will continue. Obviously this ending seems not only abrupt, but unsatisfactory. That is because…well, it's hardly the end.

Thank you for your patience, your eloquent and thoughtful reviews, and your own excellent writing.

See you in a week or so!

Menolly

**Chapter Fourteen: Meant You No Harm**

Remus Lupin picked his shattered, shaking form up from the hall carpeting as the long-awaited morning light streamed in through the upstairs windows. For a long, blissful moment, he was completely confused, his mind blank of any of the disastrous occurrences of the night before.

Then his thankfully human forearm brushed against a stray lock of Hermione's hair, and he glanced down to find her lying senseless, pinned beneath his naked, outstretched legs. There was a shallow, though angry-looking red gash across her cheek, and her mouth was partially open, head lolling back against the carpet. Something in Lupin's stomach turned over, and the girl before his eyes turned into a disturbing red and white blur, as he turned his head and wretched violently over the edge of the top stair.

Only when he'd finished expelling his insides was he able to regain any semblance of clearheadedness. He ran one finger over the curve of Hermione's cheek, and was relieved beyond belief when he felt the puffs of her breath against his searching hand.

_You Beast, _screamed Nymphadora Tonks, larger-than-life in the back of his roiling brain. _You beast, you beast, you beast, you beast, you beast, you beast…_

Vaguely, he was aware of a pounding noise coming from behind him, in the direction of Mrs. Granger's bedroom. He didn't even think to go and examine the source. Any thought of facing that hospitable and understanding woman in the face of this destruction that he had created was absolutely unthinkable.

As if in a dream, Lupin rolled off of Hermione, and reached down to gather her still-limp body into his arms. He passed with her into the bedroom that they'd shared the night before, however briefly, and laid her down gently on the bed. As he did so, he checked to see if there were any other wounds or signs of savagery on her body. There was nothing that he could see.

The bedroom, on the other hand, showed countless indications of having been brutalized. The door was mostly in pieces, very little of it still hanging in the door frame. The curtains that had failed to screen them from the moon were tattered and lying around the bed on the floor. One of the shelves of books that had been standing across the room from them had fallen to the floor, and all of the volumes that had been on its shelves were scattered in colorful heaps. Among them, Lupin saw the unmistakable cover of Paolini's masterwork on memory.

As if spurred by that recognition, all of the memories of what had passed the night before sprang back into Lupin's consciousness. The heat rose in his frame as he experienced again every subtlety of Hermione's touch, of the way her body had moved against him, and of how gentle and soft her skin had been against his seeking lips. She had been clumsy at times, and he had found it a charming nuance. When she had seemed more careful, more experienced, he had marveled at the delicacy of her lovemaking. Now that same delicate girl was sprawled, dazed, on the bed where he'd taken her the night before.

Yes, thought Lupin, masterfully suppressing the urge to puke a second time. He'd taken her, because that really was exactly how it had been. He, not only an older man, but her experienced protector, had taken advantage of her when she'd come in to check on the results of his research. How could she have refused him? No doubt what he'd taken for gentleness had been timidity and terror in the face of his insistence.

But no, something in his mind insisted. No, that wasn't right. That couldn't be right. She loves me, Lupin told himself, and she wanted me. She wanted to be with me, she wants to be with me now. I'm allowed to believe that. She promised me that it was true.

Hermione made a sort of squeaking sound in her sleep, and Lupin, relieved to hear anything come out of her after her ordeal, leaned over her to see if she was waking. The marks on her cheek glared up accusatorily at him. She loves you, they seemed to say, and look at what you made of that. Look what happens when you get so comfortable that you forget what a beast you are?

He recoiled from her, and slid off the bed, seating himself on the floor in front of it. How could it have happened? He had made her promises too, promises t take care of her, and of her safety. Angrily, Lupin kicked out with one foot, sending one of the books on the floor crashing into the nearby wall. Paolini's book was still lying on the floor before him. Picking it up, he turned it over listlessly in one hand, finding that he couldn't care less about the mystery of the Ministry any longer. None of it really mattered in the face of his new knowledge. He couldn't stay here anymore. The moment was over, the game was up. Who was he to care about someone else's problems, or, for that matter, for the entire wizarding world? He was going to leave her, and he would never be able to come back, not after this.

Hermione scrunched her legs up to her chest in a protective gesture, and Lupin winced. What would she think when she found herself injured in the morning, her bedroom destroyed, and him gone without a word? She'd tell him to stay, he knew, and she'd promise him that it didn't matter. He could hear her now, reasoning with him on what course of action to take next. She'd tell him that they could go away together, and protect the world from him in some secret hiding place full of love and wolfsbane muffins. It made him smile.

"But you've got to understand," he whispered to the sleeping girl. "It can't be, Hermione. We'll never win. You can't defeat this in me, not with all the love and cleverness in the world."

Hermione said nothing, but Lupin imagined the hurt look on her face, and how desperately she would search for him when he was gone. He was going to break her heart, as well as her curtains. Good job, Remus. Excellent foresight. He buried his face in his hands and wept.

* * *

_The trick, _wrote Musetta Paolini, _is to catch the loose ends, so that the witch or wizard in question never knows how much he or she has lost or missed out on. _

Lupin, now clad in his torn pair of trousers of the day before, was reading deeply into the chapter of the book on which Hermione had commented about the static quality of truth. The girl in question was still asleep on the bed, and he was taking great pains to keep out of her line of sight, so that if she chanced to wake up suddenly, she wouldn't engage him in any sort of sudden argument which he was admittedly totally unprepared for.

_See the memory in your mind's eye as well as they can see it in theirs, _continued Paolini. _It is a very tricky job, but certainly doable. Some people share memories so strong that they can both understand deeply what the other must have been seeing or feeling at the time. Though few of us are subject to that kind of rapport, those that are have amazing power over their partner. The uses of modification magic, in such cases, are simply endless._

Retrieving his wand from his previously discarded robes, he strode over to Hermione's side, and paused as he held it above her head. The tears had ceased, and he was dry eyed and stony-faced as he regarded the girl that he loved with a resigned horror of the spirit that he had not quite managed to quell.

Gently, he leaned down, and kissed her ear with surprisingly steady lips. He started to say "I love you," but stopped, feeling stupid, and hypocritical. Incapable of speech, he shook his head, and then tried to imagine what moment had started their downward spiral into unsafe affections.

He could see very clearly in his mind's eye the day that he had gone to rescue Hermione from the menacing Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. Picturing that scene as carefully and meticulously as he could, he waited a moment, and then pointed his wand at Hermione's curly head, and whispered "Claudo Recordatio."

Hermione blinked. Lupin held his breath. She lay still again, apparently unfazed by the spell.

Lupin tried hard to remember Paolini's words to the letter. _The memory must be encased in a complexity of spells, _the book had said. _A cheaply made memory-lock is easy for the bearer of the memory to break by his or herself. A well-made one can only be broken by a trained Legilimens, if then. _

Lupin moved on to the second memory, of moving in with her to his home, and of confining her against her will in his basement. From there, h e went on to think of the conversation with Kingsley in the mirror, and of the necessity of their leaving to return to Hermione's own home. He imagined meeting her mother at the door, exploring the house, first entering Hermione's bedroom. Finally, he had to add the parts which included the attack by the Death Eaters on Hermione's house, and the horrible Cruciatus curse which he had been so afraid would cost him her life.

It was then that the painful recollections began. Lupin carefully and methodically forced his mind to work through every step of her courtship of him, of the way that she'd promised him that it didn't matter that he was old, or dangerous, or her Professor. Shed kissed him in a way that he didn't think he would ever be kissed again, and she'd flooded his whole being with feelings of love and understanding that werewolves and others of their outcast kind never began to dream of.

From that point on, the remembering became easier. More than once, Lupin found himself moved almost to tears by the things that crossed his mind as he tried to pin down Hermione's experiences with him over the past several weeks, and yet, the more he thought about them, the less horrible they became. He had to force himself to think of the dangerous things, and the bad moments, as well as the good. Everything that came naturally to mind seemed to be beautiful.

When he'd worked through every occurrence in his mind, up until the point when he'd awoken beside her bleeding form this very morning, Lupin spoke the incantation a second time. "Claudo Recordatio," he said, attempting the firm and commanding voice recommended by Musetta Paolini. "Claudo Recordatio, Somnio Absorbeo."

Violet sparks drifted from his wand on to Hermione's temples. They coated her forehead for a moment, and she glowed with a disturbing purple light. Almost immediately, however, the light was gone, and the sparks faded into nothingness. Hermione slept on, apparently obvious to the entire matter.

Lupin swallowed hard, as he ran his hand over the place on her head where the magical shimmers had just been. No doubt, he found himself thinking, Hermione herself would have been excellent at this spell. I wonder if she'll ever find out how very easy and uncomplicated it actually is to do magic of this kind. She'd probably laugh.

He laid his cheek against hers, and took one long, lingering breath of her sleeping smell, before plucking at his courage, and turning for the door.

You'll never remember, he thought blankly, and I'll never forget. Odd, isn't it, and ironic how each extreme might be equally painful to one of us.

* * *

"She won't remember anything," he said to Mrs. Granger, as he stood by the fireplace several minutes later. He'd released both parents from their bedroom to find Mr. Granger in too great a state of shock to engage in any serious conversation. Only Mrs. Granger had seemed able to listen calmly, and to take in both the news that she'd been entertaining a dangerous werewolf in her house, but that her daughter had just suffered a terribly severe magical brain injury…with Lupin's help. "I thought," he continued helplessly, "that it would be better if she didn't remember. It will only hurt her if she wants…to try to come looking for me. I wanted to avoid that. I…would rather she never understand."

"I don't imagine she ever will," said Mrs. Granger, rather coldly. "You seem to have taken care of any danger of that."

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling stupid. "I'm really…terribly sorry, Mrs. Granger. I didn't…"

"Of course you didn't mean for any of it to happen," blurted Mrs. Granger, sighing in some exasperation. "Good god, do you really think that I'd be standing here talking to you if I thought that you'd deliberately taken advantage of and then attacked my daughter?"

Lupin stared at her. Mrs. Granger shook her head sadly.

"No, Professor," she murmured, "I don't believe she's the only one who's been damaged by the incident. And what exactly do you expect me to tell her?"

"What ever you think is best," muttered Lupin. "Tell her…tell her she had an amazing summer, that you took her to a hundred wonderful places, and that she suffered a bit of a concussion when coming back from France, and that therefore she can't remember. She'll have no reason not to believe you. Tell her she was really exceptionally happy."

He took a pinch of floo powder from his pocket, and tossed it into the fireplace, turning his face away from Mrs. Granger so that she couldn't see the anguish that he knew must be at least partially in his voice.

"Well," he heard her say in that same quiet, understanding way, even as he disappeared, "I don't suppose that last bit would be a lie, Professor, now would it?"

**Author's Final Word: **Oh yes, yes, I know exactly how unhappy you are with me, but that's that. If you want to know how Hermione reacted to the whole situation when she woke up, perhaps I'll publish something on that subject when TDH comes out. Once we know what happens in book seven, we might know what her parents told her as a cover story. If Jo doesn't give us that clue, I'll write a one-shot to make sure that it doesn't remain a mystery.

Thanks again,


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